


Our Seasonal Love (is Forever)

by HellsAngel921



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Falling In Love, Growing Old Together, M/M, Slightest bit of angst, Superbat Reverse Bang, They deserve a happy ending, but mostly feel good stuff, clark and bruce love each other and you can pry that out of my dead cold hands, except damian but he comes around eventually, getting married, i'm sorry about that, none of this is seen sorry, superbat across the seasons, the batkids are mentioned but never seen, they all support superbat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24938446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellsAngel921/pseuds/HellsAngel921
Summary: They meet in Gotham Park in the middle of Autumn.Then fall in love during Winter.Spring is the beginning of a new chapter they'll open together.And Summer? That's when they finally find time to rest.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 22
Kudos: 92
Collections: Superbat Reverse Bang 2020





	1. Thank you!

Please go check out the art by the ever talented lovelastart I based this fic on [HERE!](https://lovelastart.tumblr.com/post/622046540125618176/my-art-piece-for-superbat-reverse-bang-2020) <3 <3 <3

It was so much fun working on this with you!


	2. Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autumn is the season of change. To find new people.

Around this time of the year when the air changes into cooler temperatures, and the days get shorter, Clark slowly starts to feel… well not necessarily more lethargic-his energy and superhuman abilities don’t diminish any more during the changing seasons than when the sun goes down to signal the start of night-but perhaps more _distracted_. Especially during the later half of Autumn. He was never truly sure what it was that happened during this time, he suspects it might because of a result of the sun’s direct rays being blocked by the clouds too long but he finds it’s a bit harder to find the motivation to put on a suit (either one of them) in the morning and starting his day.

It’s not something he’d ever experienced this extremely before, back when he’d still been living on the Kent farm with Ma and Pa. The colder seasons did dampen his mood somewhat to the point of wanting the same things as normal people do: cuddling up at night with a blanket and cocoa specially prepared by Ma for the chill he doesn’t really feel but happily accepts anyway.

With a sigh, he realizes that being affected by the cooler season might be because he’s by himself for the first time. A pathetic twinge pulls in his stomach at that thought, all the time he’d spent growing up, he’s always known his ambition was to move into a large city and start a career there and journalism was something he had true passion for. He’d even gotten hired at one of the best news companies in the world, right in Metropolis City! But now that he’s here, spending the first month in his small but cozy apartment instead of the warm, familiar house he’d lived the first twenty two years of his life, he feels homesick immediately.

Not to say his everyday life seems changed drastically that anyone would notice. He’s more careful with the image people who only know him as Clark Kent, _Daily Planet_ reporter see (ignoring the number of individuals who know him as anything other than that was a mere two who are living happy and healthy on a peaceful farm in Kansas) and wouldn’t jeopardize it. Besides, slower responses to others is nothing that can’t be explained away up to daydreaming on the worst of days.

Clark Kent, normal _Daily Planet_ worker can remain the same as always. But Clark himself can’t always ignore the changes that occur in him.

Like now, when he’s trying to write up an article for his new job and failing to do so.

With one more frustrated groan, he attempts at trying to finish, knowing it was due to turn in the very next evening. He ultimately gives up when thirty minutes pass and nothing gets typed. Perry is gonna have his head if he doesn’t get it done but he can’t find the words.

_“I just need you to fill in the space that Cat was supposed to have written for me after she’d attended Luthor’s event but she’s too busy covering for her sick aunt right now so just give me any horse crock you can come up with by Sunday, Kent!”_ Perry had shouted before all but physically hurtling Clark out of his office.

“What do I know about high-society life anyway…”

He’d been born and raised on a farm, mud and all manners of bodily fluids were his best friends for years. 

With another sigh, he sets his laptop aside,reaches for the new zip up hoodie he’d bought just last week and headed out the front door. Hopefully, he’ll find something to jog his brain to finally get started on Perry’s fill in article.

* * *

He takes a walk around his neighborhood, watching people and dogs walk by with friendly and polite greetings.

His shoulders slump when twenty minutes go by and he’s not any closer to coming up with anything for the article.

With a careful look around him, he ducks back into a darker alley. He waits a few more minutes before taking a flight path up into the sky.

  
  


Clark puffed out a breath, sitting crossed legged above the clouds. He’d floated around, hoping the near proximity to the sun would spark anything in him but, while it did make him feel marginally more energized, he still hadn’t thought of anything.

And while it’d been nice to spend his time away from the noise of a busy city, he’d lost track of time and now he was two hours nearer to a deadline he was still not prepared for.

Deciding to call Perry to ask for an extension, Clark makes his way back down to the Earth, breaking through the clouds and pauses to gauge how far he’d strayed from Metropolis. He takes in the darker Gothic buildings and wrinkles his nose at the amount of smog that fills the air.

Was this Gotham then…?

His gaze wanders over to a large metal gate leading into a park not too far from him, the letters at the entrance spelling out _Gotham Park_ answered that pretty quickly. Debating only for a few seconds in his head, he shrugs and carefully makes his way down so nobody will see him.

* * *

_Gotham Park_ is nicer than he’d thought it would be.

There’s no other person to be found but plenty of tall trees, leaves turning yellow with the changing of seasons, and tiny wildlife scurrying about. The pollution the rest of the city seems smothered in is not as prominent here and Clark finds that he’s enjoying the walk he takes, following the path that leads from one entrance to the other.

But as he continues on, his good mood eventually dies down when he remembers what he’s supposed to be doing at this very moment. He sighs, staring up at the cloudy sky.

_I can’t even write one little article… what does that say about how this job will go…_

He jolts a little at the slip of thought, surprise coloring his face. Clark knows he’s an overall modest man but he’d never really consider himself self-depreciative.

_Maybe the stress of the weather, a new job and being Superman is all getting to me. I should just ask for that extension now and hope Perry-_

His feet stop, eyes landing on the bench in front of him occupied by a single man. He’s sitting upright and his hands are folded politely together on his lap but his hair was disheveled slightly-likely from the wind that blows by occasionally-and the nice looking dark blue winter coat-a stark contrast to all the brighter colors all around them-has the first few buttons undone. His cheeks are flushed just the slightest, like he’d been out in the cold for a while now and there’s a far away look in his eyes.

_He’s handsome_ , is what Clark first thinks after taking it all in and then clear his throat, feeling a flush run up the back of his neck, _Wow, okay me._

The sound catches the man’s attention, his eyes focus impossibly fast onto Clark in a way that almost makes him flinch. Clark felt as though he knew what it was like to sympathize with all those poor animals he’d watched as a kid on TV dubbed ‘prey’. But then the sharp gaze is gone in second, making Clark question if it’d really even been there from the start, and there’s a polite smile being directed at him.

“Hello,” the man greets him. Clark likes the sound of his voice immediately.

“Hi,” he says back but feels awkward at just leaving it there so he adds in, “Nice day for a walk in the park, right?” Then mentally winces when that proves to be much more awkward than keeping quiet. But the other man chuckles and doesn’t give him any weird looks so Clark guesses he hasn’t scared him away just yet.

“You realize the park is closed for renovation and that you’re not supposed to be here right now, don’t you?”

“Oh,” Clark blinks, not remembering he’d noticed any signs that said the park was closed at the entrance but that _would_ explain the lack of anyone else but then, “Why are _you_ here then?”

That seems to pull an amused smile out of the other and he shrugs.

“I guess I’m like you, just doing things everyone else tells me I shouldn’t.”

Clark nods, accepting the sort of explanation and goes over to sit beside him.

“I’m supposed to be at a party right now. Being the host and all.”

Clark looks over to see the man is still staring at the trees when he says this but then he turns to him and leans his head in a little closer, voice dropping in volume as if he’s sharing a secret, “But I got sick of it pretty soon and left.”

Clark thinks about the topic Cat had left for him to follow up on, about the party she had attended but did not so he had no clue what to write. He looks at the man’s attire and wonders if he was like the rich socialites Clark was _supposed_ to make up an article for.

“Wouldn’t everyone notice you were gone?”

“Not really. Those kind of people only care for what benefits them the most, be it money or fame or sex.”

Clark feels a sudden sadness for him, thinking about this man surrounding himself with people like that because he has to.

“By the way,” the man adds, lips quirked up in a smirk that makes Clark’s heart beat faster for some reason, “I’m also what you would consider one of ‘those kinds of people’.”

“I don’t believe that,” Clark automatically says, not knowing why (he’s never even met this person until today) but he thinks that sort of description for him is absolutely untrue.

“Oh?” the smirk falters, the man turns his head back to stare up at falling leaves around them.

“You should button up you know, you’ll catch a cold like that.”

The man looks down in surprise, like he wouldn’t have noticed the state of his coat had Clark not said anything. He glances back over, not moving to do as advised but tilting his head playfully with a grin, “Aren’t you quite the boy scout? Will you help me with it then?”

“Wha-?!” Clark stutters, mind working a mile a minute to conjure up images of his hands anywhere near-okay no, bad Clark, you are total _strangers_!

The man snorts, small chuckles turning into full blown laughter as Clark continues to sputter, clutching his sides and cheeks growing even redder. 

“Your _face_ , boy scout!”

Feeling indignant and being plainly made fun of like this, Clark's rational side doesn’t stop him fast enough before he thinks, _I’ll show him_ , and moves forward to grab at the other’s coat, intent on buttoning it up. In a flash, there’s two hands digging into his wrists immediately and Clark is reeling back slightly at the way the man’s eyes harden into ice. Clark blinks when surprise fills them, before a small speck of horror, then it’s all masked away with something that’s more neutral. He feels the hands loosen their hold, thumbs grazing against the skin on his wrist.

“I didn’t expect that, sorry. Did I hurt you?”

The answer would be yes if Clark had been any less himself and more human. He knows the exact pressure he needs to apply in order to break bone on a healthy adult and with the force that had been applied to him, he knew for a fact that it would have at least left a fracture on anyone else. But for him?

“No, you just surprised me a bit.”

“Really? I thought I-oh,” the man pauses mid question when he sees that Clark’s wrists are indeed unmarred by any bruises, “Well nevermind, I’m still sorry I startled you.”

“It’s alright,” he goes to finish the job, making sure the buttons fall into the right spots before he takes his hands away from the man’s coat. There’s a small sense of dread filling him when he realizes that although his movement had been sudden, it wasn’t enough to warrant a reaction like that. He wonders what sort of things this man could have gone through to have an automatic response to a simple coat grab as if he were being threatened.

There’s a silence that’s definitely awkward when Clark returns to his side of the bench. He searches his brain for anything that will fill it in but it comes up unhelpfully blank. Just as his benchmate gets up to his feet and Clark thinks this will be the end to a very unusual first meeting, the man turns right back around to him with a considerate expression.

“Dance with me.”

“Wha-?!” It’s Déjà vu all over again as Clark sputters but he’s not laughed at this time. Instead the man holds out a hand, smiling.

“I told you I’d left a party earlier. I didn’t get to enjoy myself and didn’t even have time to get one dance in.”

“So you want to dance with me?”

“Why not?”

Why not indeed. Clark looks from the hand up to the face of the one offering it and back before taking it hesitantly. Should he be doing this? First of all…

“I don’t know how to dance,” the last one he’d ever had was during highschool prom with dozens of other awkward teenagers holding shoulders and swaying back forth more than anything. Fancy dances done at fancy parties way above his pay grade were admittedly not going to accept ‘senior shuffling’ as acceptable experience.

“It’s not hard, just keep moving. Here I’ll lead.”

And then Clark is pulled up to his feet and his hands are positioned into the right areas to begin what he thinks must be some sort of waltz. 

“Uh…”

“No, not like that. Follow my movements, don’t look at your feet.”

“But how am I supposed to…?”

“Just follow the music.”

_What music?_ He wants to ask but the other is no longer paying attention to him, closing his eyes and swaying to a beat only he can hear. A beat… 

Clark closes his eyes, ears honing in on the man’s heartbeat. It thumps in a steady, powerful pace that he finds pleasant to hear and he matches his steps to it, moving as it does and somehow managing not to step on any toes. He notes how much slower it is than average, the rate an athlete usually possesses, and only picks up slightly in response to the dance he’s sharing with Clark. It’s unwavering and strong and Clark would listen to it for a whole day without growing tired of it.

When they begin to slow to the end of their imaginary song, Clark finds he feels disappointed at the fact.

“You sure you haven’t danced before?” the man asks him, brow raised in slight disbelief.

“Uh not any like this…?” he answers truthfully.

“Hmm, well. You certainly were very good for a beginner. You got the rhythm down almost instantly.”

“Oh uh thanks?” he says, not about to admit he’d been following the beat of someone else’s heart he most certainly shouldn’t be able to hear.

There’s a silence that sits between them now, but it’s comfortable. Clark is content to stand here beside his temporary companion, forgetting about the article, forgetting about the weather and even forgetting about Superman. A slight breeze passes them and Clark realizes suddenly that they were still holding onto each other. His companion seems to come to the same conclusion right then as well, eyes widening and looking at their hands, still joined together as if they might continue for another dance. Clark wouldn’t mind.

But then the other’s hand is slipping out of his and Clark unconsciously goes to reach for it but stops at the last second when he remembers the last time he’d done something like this, hand freezing in mid air. The other man stills as well, gaze darting back and forth between Clark’s hand and face.

Another breeze blows past them, ruffling their clothes and hair. Clark takes a deep breath before slowly moving his hand forward. He sees how those eyes widen even more but there’s nothing hostile in them so Clark doesn’t waver. He reaches right over to brush some of the other man’s disheveled hair back into something much more decent, a thrill going up his spine when his touch isn’t rejected.

There’s something small and vulnerable in the man’s expression now as Clark continues to gently run his hand through the strands, and Clark feels a bit helpless, like he’s on autopilot when he moves in to-

_“Master Wayne, there’s been an unexpected incident down by the harbor.”_

Clark jumps, only just managing to pull away in shock without using his super speed. He spares a second to be worried that it was a private line he’d been startled by but shouldn’t have been able to hear but when he looks over, he sees how far the other had jumped back as well and feels relieved that he could explain away his actions by reacting to _his_ -Wayne’s?-reaction.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” Wayne says in a hurry, that vulnerable moment in his eyes has lessened but it wasn't completely gone. It makes Clark want to hold him closer again.

“Oh uh, yeah that’s okay. I should be heading back too, it was nice meeting you,” he almost ends it with ‘Mr. Wayne’ but manages to bite it back just in time.

Wayne smiles and nods, turning around to head out of the park.

Clark doesn’t know why, but seeing him turn away and walk off, not knowing if they’d ever meet again, it causes him to exclaim, “I’ll be seeing you around then?”

Wayne pauses, glancing back towards him with surprise on his face before a smirk that’s more fond than amused replaces it, “Sure boy scout. You lead next time, alright?”

When he’s finally gone, Clark places a hand on his wildly beating heart and takes a deep breath to prepare for the flight home.

* * *

The next day, as Perry comes marching out of his office and Clark’s mentally veering up to be chewed out for not having anything written for the article assigned to him, he gets the surprise when his boss exclaims he’s not going to be in trouble for that.

Because he’s being assigned a new piece and is going to head off to cover Bruce Wayne’s charity gala in three nights.

His head snaps up at the mention of one half of that name and luckily no one takes notice. Perry raises a brow at him for his assent and he quickly nods with an “okay” before the man is stalking back to his office.

“Bruce Wayne…” he mutters to himself, already typing in the name into a search bar, a strained noise escapes him one minute later.

Lois, a coworker whom he respects just as much as he’s intimidated by, narrows her eyes at him from her desk, reporter instincts scenting a scoop, “What’s this, Smallville? Pretty boy got your tongue?”

_Yes, very pretty. And very famous. And_ **_very_ ** _rich. And very way out of my league and oh..._

His mouth opens and closes, imitating a goldfish for several seconds before Lois is walking over, glancing over at his computer. He can’t close the window fast enough and she snorts at the half naked swimsuit shot he’d had up for far longer than appropriate.

“Yup, that’s Brucie Wayne alright.”

“ _Brucie?_ ”  
  


* * *

He goes to the gala three nights later, and meets Bruce Wayne, laughing and strutting around, half drunk and with at least three different beautiful women hanging off his arm at various points of the party.

He thinks of all the articles and news videos about the man who owns Wayne Enterprise, as well as pretty much half of Gotham, and blanches at the way Bruce never manages to make it seem like he has more than one single brain cell running at any given time.

He’s ditzy and carefree on every instance of the media and Clark can’t quite measure this man with the one who’d asked him for a dance out in the middle of a park.

But when their eyes meet for the first time the night of the event, Bruce freezes. Clark sees his expression soften every so slightly and his mouth moves, two words forming in a hushed whisper that he wasn’t supposed to hear, “Boy scout?”

But then the vapid, airheaded Brucie Wayne is back and moves on to chat with the other guests, leaving Clark standing there, a desire to get to know what the real Bruce Wayne was like.

* * *

_His dreams that night are filled with scenes of him and a handsome stranger, twirling and swaying to a rhythm only they could hear. He’s called ‘boy scout’, never by his real name but he doesn’t complain, listening and dancing to a strong and steady beat._


	3. Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You spend time warming up with cherished and loved ones during Winter.

The holidays are coming up. Normally, this had Clark’s spirits up at the prospect of going back to Kansas for Christmas to celebrate and catch up with his parents. He always looked forward to the smell of Ma’s freshly cooked dinner and Pa’s familiar laughter, the mere idea of spending time with his family staving off any melancholy the colder season without much sun does to him.

But this year, he would have to spend it without them.

Clark resists the urge to sigh for the tenth time as he absently pokes at the food on his plate. He doesn’t want to alarm his company to his distress. It had been years since Bruce had invited him to come and go around the manor as he pleases and maybe he’d been coming over for morning visits before heading to work more often than he probably should but the thought of spending his first Christmas without his parents has him a little morose. Besides, it’s not as though he would ever take the privilege of being friends with Bruce for granted, he just knows that being near the man effectively fights off any loneliness he’s feeling. It works especially in moments like this, where the two of them sit next to each other at the dining table, Clark in his work clothes and Bruce in his pajamas, both nursing a cup of coffee and eating the delicious breakfast Alfred had cooked for them. They don’t speak but take comfort in each other’s presence nonetheless. 

Looking up at the man, Clark takes a moment to ponder over his friendship with Bruce. He always thought they were similar, two men who had lost their worlds at a young age and wanted to do what was right, donning capes and personas to meet out justice. But over time Clark begins to see just how different they are. And not because of their very different personalities but because of how much stronger Bruce was than him.

The papers will dub Superman the strongest, unbeatable superhero and fans will swear on their lives that Batman would never be able to hold out more than five minutes against him in a fight. But Clark knows that strength doesn’t mean just the physical type.

Strength also means picking yourself up after seeing your most loved ones die in front of you in a dark alley. It means not letting the loss and sadness and anger you hold within you consume you and molding it into a righteous fury. Strength means to use that righteous fury to do good for others. It means picking yourself up no matter how many times you are beaten down and go on living.

And Bruce will always be so much stronger than Clark because of this.

“Is breakfast not to your liking, Master Kent?”

Startling just a bit, Clark just barely manages not to break the steel fork in his hand to regard said food in front of him. He winces when he notices that his “poking” had turned the over easy eggs on his plate into a scrambled mush. Alfred was looking at him with a raised brow and even Bruce had glanced over. The Englishman’s cooking was amazing and didn’t deserve such an insult.

“Sorry, Alfred,” he apologizes, then picks up some of the egg mush and stuffs it into his mouth to assure them, “It’s really good, I was just distracted.”

“Clark,” Bruce calls to him from the side, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. Clark pauses in his chewing to look at his friend’s concerned face. “What’s wrong?” Bruce asks him.

Clark takes a moment to consider lying, but he catches sight of the newspaper in Bruce’s hand and reads the headlines for the day: _“Christmas in Gotham-Get your last minute shopping in!”_. A sudden wave of loneliness hits him again and he sighs, knowing the look on his face will give him away.

“It’s just… spending Christmas without Ma and Pa has got me feeling a little weird is all,” Clark admits and then shrugs, trying to play it off as not such a big deal as if he hadn’t been wallowing in his misery the whole morning.

“What?” Bruce frowns and the concern on his face becomes greater. Clark can hear his heartbeat pick up, “Did something happen? Are they hurt?”

“No, no!” Clark hurriedly assures the man, putting down his fork to cover Bruce’s hand still on his arm, “It’s nothing like that. They’re both perfectly fine, don’t worry.”

Bruce nods, his heartbeat slowing down to a normal pace now that the knowledge of his parent’s safety is settled. Clark feels a not so surprising warmth settle in his chest at how worried the other was over his parents and squeezes Bruce’s hand just a little tighter, in gratitude.

“If they’re okay, why aren’t you going to be with them for Christmas? Don’t you always go for the holidays?”

“Yeah but… they won a trip for an all expenses paid cruise to the Bahamas for the week and I can’t exactly intrude on it. And it’s not like I’m not happy that they’re going on vacation, I just… this will be a first for me I guess, not eating Christmas dinner with family. I would go hang out with Lois but she’s got a date too and uh...” Clark clears his throat, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed now that he’s saying it out loud, knowing how selfish and pathetic this is making him sound. But Bruce doesn’t make fun of him, nor does he look at Clark with anything but understanding. 

And Clark supposes Bruce does understand. It’s been a while since he’d heard Dick’s voice in the manor to brighten the whole place.

Bruce then seems to contemplate something, wearing a look that was similar to when Batman is turning an idea over in his head, weighing pros and cons of a situation. It takes a few minutes before Bruce speaks again, all the while he’s never taken his hand away from Clark’s arm. He doesn’t protest though, and doesn’t move his own hand away either.

“Well, you are always welcome to spend Christmas here if you want,” Bruce offers.

Clark blinks, gaping in surprise.

“Really?”

“Yes, Alfred and I wouldn’t be opposed to having you here. And besides, Alfred always cooks too much for the holidays, I would never be able to finish it all myself,” Bruce says this with the most serious look in his eyes. 

Clark thinks about spending Christmas in Wayne manor. He thinks about it being just him and Bruce at the dinner table, stuffing themselves full with food in the warm dining room while it snowed softly outside. He thinks about sharing some Christmas stories of his younger days, making Bruce smile at the foolish things he’d done and feeling a tightness in his chest at being able to see such a gift. He thinks about just being near Bruce without having to save the world for just the night, having this special moment just to themselves.

“Of course, you don’t have to come. It’s merely an option open to you should you take it. If you’d rather not, then you are more than willing-” Bruce has begun to back track from his offer immediately after Clark had stayed quiet for too long. The reporter holds up a hand to interrupt any more.

“Bruce, I’d love to visit for Christmas,” is Clark’s reply as he fights off a stupid grin. What he’d thought was going to be a lonely night with a tv dinner on the couch but now would be one he would likely enjoy far more than many others to come.

“Good,” Bruce nods and then his eyes widen just slightly before he takes his hand away. He clears his throat, looking away.

Clark doesn’t stop him but he does mourn the loss of that warmth on his arm. He doesn’t let it get him down though, not with Christmas just a few days away.

“Which cruise line did you say your parents were on again?”

Clark blinks in surprise as Bruce takes out his phone, scrolling through it without a glance in his direction.

“I didn’t. Why?” He feels a creeping suspicion on why Bruce was asking him this.

Bruce pauses for the briefest of moments, eyeing Clark with a raised brow, ““Because Martha and Jonathan Kent are lovely people who deserve the best.”

“You do realize I said their whole trip was already paid for? You don’t need to do anything.” 

Bruce’s noncommittal ‘hm’ is all the answer he gets, and he doesn’t stop scrolling through his phone.

Clark doesn’t put any effort into anymore protests to what would probably be a very expensive upgrade to his parent’s trip. Bruce was right after all, they do deserve the best.

Besides, he’s too preoccupied with looking forward to what would be one of the best Christmas’ he would ever experience.

* * *

  
  


Every year, during Christmas Eve, Bruce would host a charity event, inviting all sorts of parties to attend and donate to the homeless during the harsher winter weather. He had been attending as Lois’ plus one but she had wandered off almost as soon as they had entered the building, ready to grab some good information. Clark had watched her go without a word and searched the floor for anybody he could interview as well.

He caught sight of Bruce not too long after, watching him laugh much too loudly to be real, surrounded by the richest of socialites Gotham had to offer. As always, he was wearing a suit perfectly tailored to hug his body in just the right way, smile wide on his handsome face and not a hair out of place.

He’s reminded of the very first time he’d ever set eyes on Bruce. Back on that day, when the leaves had just turned yellow with Autumn rolling in and Clark had found himself meandering absentmindedly right into Gotham park. When Bruce had not looked as put together as he did now. When Clark had been allowed to see the man looking as lost as Clark had felt back then.

He remembers the dance they shared, impulsive but fun nonetheless. The way their bodies just moved so well together to an imaginary song still has him feeling warm and giddy even now. He thinks he won’t ever forget the way he held Bruce then, his hands itching at both the memory and desire to ask Bruce to dance again right now. He thinks he should be more surprised at himself for such a thing but can’t find it in himself to be. It’s okay to want, right? Especially if he never acts on it.

Bruce catches his eye and in that moment, there’s something that softens in his expression, making the man seem younger, more vulnerable. Clark wants so badly to cross the room and lead him away from the others, to take him back to that park and dance until the night passes them by. But he settles for knowing tomorrow night, he will have his time. Perhaps not as dance partners, but sharing space as companions will be just as good.

Clark smiles and nods at Bruce before turning away to actually do his job. He doesn’t manage more than two steps before the first gun shot cracks through the air.

* * *

  
  


This Christmas was turning out to be one of the worst that Clark Kent has ever experienced.

_To be fair_ , Clark thinks to himself as his arms are bound tightly behind him, _it isn’t Christmas just yet_. 

It could only be bad luck that placed him in just the right spot for three of Joker’s men to be close enough during the clown’s first warning shot that Clark couldn’t just slip out during all the chaos. They had immediately grabbed him and shoved him towards the middle of the room where everyone was being tied up and threatened under various sorts of firing arms.

There’s no consolation when he sees that Bruce has fallen under the same predicament as him, kneeling among the other hostages with his hands tied behind him. It gets even worse when Joker has chosen to single him out.

“Bruce Wayne! The man of the night! Just the person I was looking for!” the crazy criminal grabs Bruce, hauling him up to sling an arm around his shoulders with a grin too wide to be anything comforting, “You’re friends with Batsy, aren’t you?”

“I… I w-wouldn’t say we’re… friends exactly,” Bruce hides his feelings well with a convincingly frightened expression and shaky voice but Clark wonders if his trembling isn’t so much acting ‘the scared, fragile billionaire’ as it is from the man holding back the urge to throttle the clown.

“Nonsense, Bats and his flock of birds are always saving you from trouble, you two are practically best buds,” The deranged man pauses his irrational conclusions to pat at Bruce’s face with his gun, as if reminding everyone of the threat he holds in his hand, “And since you’re such good buddies, I need you to do me just a teeny tiny favor, Brucie boy.”

Clark could practically hear Bruce snarl furiously in his head at both the proximity and the insinuation that Bruce would do any favors for him. The reporter looks around to find any way to get out of this for both of them, and feels disappointment when he sees all the nearest exits are blocked by henchman. His attention is ripped back when he hears a pained grunt coming from Bruce. The arm Joker was using to hold onto the billionaire is now looped tightly around the man’s neck, and Clark grits his teeth in anger when he hears the offending limb cutting off a significant amount of air from his friend.

The clown goes on as if he isn’t suffocating his most precious hostage, “I just need you to give Bats a message for me. You see, he hasn’t been playing much with me these days. Can you guess why?” the smile that had been on the brink of splitting the lunatic’s face disappears suddenly, a dangerous and dark glint in his toxic green eyes.

Bruce can’t exactly answer but his silence doesn’t deter the other.

“He’s too preoccupied with these new freaks like amazons and cyborgs and _aliens_ . Forming a new club with all his new buddies, calling it the _Justice League_ and neglecting all his old playmates like poor little old me! I just need you to let him know that he should get his priorities back in place and ditch all the new _friends_ he’s made recently,” Joker pauses to make a disgruntled face, red painted lips twisting unpleasantly as if talking about the Justice League leaves a sour taste in his mouth, “Especially that _Superman_ . Ugh… what is Bats thinking, teaming up with such a goody goody when he can be having so much more fun with _me_!”

While he’s talking, the Joker has begun to relax his arm around Bruce’s throat, allowing him to breathe regularly. Clark only feels relief at that for a brief second before the clown triggers himself upon broaching the topic of Superman, his arm tightens considerably on the poor billionaire again to the point where it’s choking him.

“Stop it!” Clark is yelling before he can really help it. All the attention turns to him instantly and if he were appearing as Superman, he would straighten himself and glare defiantly back at the criminal in front of him. As it was though, all the Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent could do without incurring too much suspicion was not flinch where he kneeled on the ground.

Joker considers him for a moment before something like recognition lights up in his eyes. 

“Aren’t you that guy from Metropolis? The one who works with that famous newspaper lady… uh what was it… Lana-Lena-oh Louise! Yeah that was it! You’re with the people who write about _Superman_ right?” The way his superhero title is spit out by the clown with such venom has an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, “That’s perfect. I need you to give him a message too.”

“What sort of message?” Clark asks just to distract the criminal from paying any more attention to Bruce.

Bruce, in the meantime, he could tell was most likely giving him a look of incredulous disbelief. He could hear the _“What the hell are you doing, Kent?”_ being aimed at him and he tries to mentally convey as much reassurance back to his friend, he was Superman after all, there’s not much that can even graze him, let alone endanger him.

“Tell him if I see his ugly mug around here, I have a very big surprise made specifically _just_ for him…” Joker’s grin turns malicious as he cocks his gun, “It’s not really my style to use something as boring as a regular old kryptonite bullet loaded gun but well… he _has_ been pissing me off lately, taking all of Bat’s attention away.”

Clark feels a weight settle in his stomach at this new information even with the sirens that begin to announce the presence of the GCPD to the ruined charity event. Kryptonite bullets. He tries not to panic at the knowledge of how serious the Joker could damage him with that gun and forces his eyes off of it when he catches movement near the upper floors. He doesn’t see anyone without the use of his x-ray vision but the footsteps he hears are cautious and sneaky-most likely one of Bruce’s sons then-and Clark feels relieved that they’ll be out of this soon. One of Joker’s henchmen comes in to tell them the police are surrounding the building.

“Well what else is new, good old Commissioner Gordon here to put a damper on-” just before Joker could finish that sentence, the lights all go out and a series of pained yelps goes through the air. Clark smiles when he spots Nightwing taking down all of Joker’s men quickly, and takes advantage of the dark to rip apart the ropes on his wrists. He’s about to pull the Joker away from Bruce when he sees the man doesn’t need his help, shouldering his captor the moment his attention has been diverted hard while placing a foot in the right position to trip him. Clark feels somewhat satisfied at the noise the lunatic makes when Bruce lands a hard kick to his head to knock him out.

Deciding the Joker was down for the second, he uses his speed to assist Nightwing in taking out anyone he hadn’t reached by then. They both succeed in incapacitating all of Joker’s henchmen by the time the GCPD bursts in, turning back on the lights. Their bewildered faces are somewhat funny as they take in on all the groaning and unconscious men on the ground, coming to the conclusion that their job had been done for them. Nightwing grins at him, giving him a thumbs up before going to talk to the commissioner. Clark smiles but when he turns back to Bruce, it quickly drops.

Bruce’s hands are still tied behind his back and he’s standing up to assess the situation, not paying attention to the clown who was supposed to be still out for the count behind him. The one who was very much awake and pointing the gun right at Bruce’s back.

Clark doesn’t think, just moves. All he knows is that he has put himself between Bruce and the danger he’s unaware of.

There’s a loud bang and then a pain-white hot and excruciating-that blooms in his chest. He’s falling, vision blacking out. There’s a lot of screaming but he can’t make out the words or who it was that was so distressed. A part of him rebels to keep fighting, to find the source of that scream and take them somewhere safe but his eyes are closing without his consent and before he knows it…

* * *

He regains consciousness to the feeling of warmth on his face and opens his eyes to see a bunch of sun lamps all aimed directly at him. Their presence plus the tell-tale sound of dripping water somewhere behind him is a give-away of where he is and he tries to confirm it by sitting up. The pain that shoots through his chest stops him in his tracks and he has to take a moment to catch his breath.

“Clark!” A familiar voice says his name. There’s a sound of someone moving towards him and Clark opens one eye, already knowing who would be there with him. He isn’t surprised to see Bruce staring down at him in concern but the Batsuit he’s donning-minus the cowl-does catch him off guard.

How long had he been out? Has Christmas passed already?

“Clark…?” Bruce takes another step in his direction when Clark doesn’t say anything for too long, hand reaching out as if to touch him but pausing in mid air as if Bruce isn’t allowing himself any closer.

“Yeah, B. I’m okay,” Clark answers, trying his best to smile through the throbbing pain lingering in his ribs and the disappointment of maybe having missed their dinner.

Bruce visibly sags in relief for a moment before his expression hardens.

“What were you thinking?!”

Oh no.

“Uh… that the Joker was about to shoot you so I-”

“Got in the way of _kryptonite bullets_! Do you have any idea how reckless that was?! What if the Joker had aimed just a little higher?!”

He knows he shouldn’t feel angry. Bruce is concerned, this is how he reacts to situations he can’t control. But Clark is feeling down already at having what was supposed to be a nice Christmas with Bruce turn out into a terrible night of both of them being held hostages for a deranged man obsessed with Batman so now he can’t help but also feel indignant being scolded for saving Bruce’s life.

“What was I supposed to do?!” he snaps, “Just let him shoot _you_ in the heart?!”

“The bullet didn’t go straight through! Do you _know_ how much damage it-! Alfred and I spent hours trying to stitch you back together… we didn’t know if you’d...” He could tell Bruce was holding back from yelling, the way his teeth were gnashing together and the tenseness in his shoulders were an indication of just how irritated the man was. How scared he was that Clark was going to die.

Any lingering anger in Clark dies in an instant at imagining Bruce painstakingly repairing what that damn bullet had done to him while he lay unconscious on the operating table, no one knowing if he’d pull through. But Clark also doesn’t back down from defending his choice, he can’t, “Bruce, I am sorry that I worried you. But I saw who that gun was aiming at and I couldn’t- I just reacted. You would have done the same for me.”

There’s a few seconds of silence between the two. Bruce doesn’t respond right away to his statement but Clark can still see the worry and anger warring together in those silver blue eyes. He wants to put a comforting hand on Bruce’s shoulder, maybe massage the tension out of him but he can’t find the strength to do anything beyond keeping awake at this point.

“Just,” Bruce sighs, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, “Get some rest. The sunlamps will help with your healing.” As if that was the end of their conversation, he turns and heads up the staircase before Clark can get another word in.

In the wake of Bruce’s absence, despite lying under a dozen or so sunlamps, there’s a cold weight that settles with the pain in Clark’s chest. It’s multiplied a few hours later when Alfred brings him dinner as he’s reminded of how his night with his friend was _supposed_ to go.

* * *

  
  


_“Clark, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”_

“W-what? Nothing’s wrong, mom I-”

_“Don’t lie to me, young man. You think the woman who raised you doesn’t notice when her only precious child isn’t happy?”_

“Mom, please. It’s really nothing, don’t worry yourself about it. I swear it’s just something I can deal with on my own. Now, how’s your trip with dad going?”

_“Don’t try to change the subject-oh… oh honey, is because we’re on this cruise? I knew we shouldn’t have taken it so close to the holidays! I told Jonathan you would be lonely without us!”_

“No, no! Ma it’s not that! Er… at least, it’s not anymore...”

_“And what does that mean?”_

“...”

_“Clark Joseph Kent!”_

“It’s just… I _was_ a little sad that I wouldn’t be spending Christmas with you guys but then Bruce invited me to spend it with him and-”

_“Oh yes, I remember you talking about him. He’s quite famous isn’t he? What a nice friend to have done such a thing.”_

“Y-yeah, he’s a great friend.”

_“And also very handsome if I recall correctly.”_

“Ma!”

_“Yes go on honey, if you spent your Christmas with your handsome famous friend why are you still so upset?”_

“...we didn’t really get to spend it together I suppose.”

Well technically they were in the same room for the duration of Christmas but it didn’t really count since one of them was unconscious and then they ate dinner in the separate rooms.

_“Oh no, what happened?”_

“Things just came up. And we sort of just… didn’t.”

He wasn’t about to tell his mother he’d jumped in front of a kryptonite bullet and had to have Bruce spend hours surgically removing it for him, and then he was healing in the Batcave for the better part of the next day until he was deemed relatively back in good health to which he couldn’t even say goodbye to Bruce who had gone out to patrol his city. It’s almost been almost a week-New Year’s was coming up already-since he’d even stepped foot into Gotham let alone seen Bruce.

The cold weight of seeing Bruce leave that night was still there and no matter how much Clark tried to distract himself with work or superhero duties, he couldn’t get rid of it. He couldn’t get the image of Bruce walking away out of his head. For the past few days, his dreams would take him back to that same exact night in the cave, where he lay on the table, unable to move watching as Bruce ignored him. No matter how he tried to reach out, he wouldn’t be able to hold onto his friend, as if watching Bruce go meant something much more than he could fathom, an unbearable loneliness overtakes him before he wakes up with a pounding heart and a cold ache in his chest that surpassed any pain a kryptonite bullet could cause.

_“Clark, sweetheart…”_

Clark snaps his attention back up with a silent curse in his head. He had completely forgotten he was still in a video chat with his mother and berates himself for being rude.

“Sorry, Ma! I was thinking to myself and got distracted. What were you saying?”

_“...oh honey,”_ His Ma sighs, an exasperated but fond smile appearing on her face before she leans in as if Clark is about to hear the answer to all the world’s secrets, “ _You know how I always tell you to talk about what’s bothering you instead of keeping it all bottled up. How can people know what you're feeling if you don’t tell them?”_

Clark frowns, wondering what his mother was getting at.

“Ma, it’s okay. We… didn’t exactly have a fight,” and he’d already apologized for worrying Bruce, “I think we just have to wait until everyone’s cooled off.”

_“Clark,”_ Martha still has that fond smile directed at him, but now her voice has a hint of steel in it, _“You know what I mean.”_

Clark pauses with a confused tilt of his head, going over her words in his head, trying to figure out what she was-

_How can people know what you’re feeling if you don’t tell them?_

_How can he know how you feel if you don’t tell him?_

There’s an unpleasant warmth spreading up his neck at the way his mother grins at him knowingly. He wills his face not to go completely red.

“Ma, please! It’s not like that!”

_“Hmm, I suppose that bright blush isn’t completely calling you out.”_

He puts his face in his hands and groans, making his mother laugh.

* * *

  
  


He lays awake on his bed that night. The peaceful sounds of Metropolis filtering through the window does nothing to help him sleep. There’s no crime that night but he doesn’t close his eyes, there’s too many thoughts in his head. He keeps thinking back to his mother’s words. He keeps thinking about how he and Bruce haven’t exchanged a single word since their disaster of a Christmas night. He keeps thinking about his own feelings towards Bruce. He keeps thinking about how he shouldn’t ever tell Bruce about it.

He keeps thinking about how much he wants to.

He looks at the clock, it’s bright digital numbers reading close to midnight.

_Batman would be almost done with patrolling by now._ He thinks to himself almost unconsciously.

His eyes look out the window up into the night sky for a long while, deciding on what he should do, before he’s throwing the covers off and changing clothes. He barely remembers to close the window on his way out.

* * *

"Batman.”

The caped vigilante freezes upon hearing his voice and turns slowly around, as if he’s expecting to have imagined Superman calling out to him. Clark can’t blame him. Despite what he’d told his mother, what they had that night was practically a fight (albeit one of their more tame ones) and there was always a mutually unspoken agreement between them to give each other space for at least a few weeks after one. But Clark can’t do it this time. He’s too on edge, his mind filled with images of Bruce walking away from him. Away from what they could be.

“Superman… I thought I told you to keep out of Gotham.”

“I know. But I need to speak with you.”

“Then speak. And get out after you’re done.”

Clark almost winces at how cold Bruce sounds but he was half expecting the unwelcome tone already so he doesn’t allow himself to feel too hurt.

“Please B, I want to speak with you privately,” aka without Alfred or anyone else listening in on the comm, “I’ll wait by the Batmobile until you’re done patrolling.”

He saw it earlier while flying and goes to it now without hearing Bruce’s reply. He wants to give both of them time to sort out their thoughts while he’s here. When he spots the vehicle near, he makes sure to keep some distance from it when he lands and waits, going over what he wants to say in his head until the time comes.

Batman arrives close to half an hour afterwards, and Clark turns to him instantly. They stare at one another for a second before Bruce lets out a breath that couldn’t quite be considered a sigh but still with enough exasperation that signals to his companion he should be swift in what he wants to say.

“What did you want to tell me, Superman?”

But Clark shakes his head and holds out a hand, “Not here. Will you come with me? I want to show you something.”

Bruce hesitates, glancing between Clark’s outstretched hand and his face. Clark prays he’s showing enough sincerity to convince the man. He hopes Bruce will take his hand.

When Bruce turns towards the Batmobile instead, Clark feels the crushing disappointment about to swallow him whole. But then he hears Bruce quietly talking to Alfred on his communicator, “We’ll be back later Agent A, I’m sending the Batmobile back to you,” before he turns it off and presses a few buttons on the car to send it driving back to the cave by itself.

Bruce turns back around and walks back to him. When he takes the hand still being offered to him, Clark finally feels that cold weight in his chest disappearing.

* * *

  
  


“Where exactly are we?” Bruce asks the moment they’re touching the snow covered ground, taking a few steps away from Clark to take in their surroundings.

“The North Pole,” Clark answers, looking up into the sky.

“Why are we here?” Bruce asks with a confused frown.

Clark waits, wanting for the right timing.

“...Superman? You said you wanted to show me something?”

Just a little longer.

“Clark!”

“There,” Clark finally responds, pointing towards the sky behind Bruce with a beaming smile, “That’s what I want to show you.”

When Bruce turns to where he’s pointing, the reaction is instant, his body goes still and mouth drops open in surprise and Clark could practically see those blue eyes widen behind the cowl’s lenses.

“Is that…?”

“Aurora borealis, commonly referred to as the northern lights,” Clark announces, smiling at the way Bruce can’t take his eyes off the beautiful light show, “I go here sometimes just to be able to see this. It’s one of the things that reminds me how much I love this planet.”

They keep quiet after that, both watching the display of dazzling colors in the sky for a good while. Eventually, Bruce turns to Clark with a questioning look.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Clark blinks in surprise, “I told you. Because I wanted to show you-”

“Yes, but _why_?”

Clark swallows the sudden lump in his throat, realizing what Bruce is really asking him. What was the reason for Clark bringing _him_ to such a place. What should Clark tell him? That this place was special to him? That it was only logical to bring the person most special to him here? Was that too much? Too cliche?

“Because you’re my friend,” he tries instead, the words ringing hollow and not entirely true to his own ears.

“Is… that all?” Bruce asks. His voice is carefully blank but Clark somehow feels that there’s more to that question. He feels that this moment is the one his dreams might have been warning him about. Any wrong move and Bruce will walk away, leaving Clark cold.

One thing pops up in his mind then and he wonders if he’s crazy for the sudden urge to follow through with it.

“Bruce,” he holds up a hand again, just like he did before and gives in to what he wanted to do on the night of Christmas eve, in that charity event hall, “Will you dance with me?”

He can read the shock and uncertainty in the way the other’s body tenses and he forces the anxious knot forming in his stomach down, waiting and hoping. The moment Bruce places his hand on Clark’s, he feels such joy he can’t quite stop himself from pulling the other man in just a tad too quick, surprising a small noise out of him when their bodies collide. He gives a mumbled apology and shifts enough so he can rest his right hand on Bruce’s waist. He smiles when Bruce brings up his own left hand to place it on his shoulder and allows Clark to lead.

They start off in a slow waltz, dancing to an imaginary music and under the bright lights of the aurora over their heads. Bruce is cautious in his steps at first, but as their dance goes on, he tightens his grip and nudges them into a faster tempo. He’s slowly but surely relaxing to the point where Clark is delighted to even see a smile appearing on him. He laughs, feeling suddenly so elated that Bruce is here, dancing with him that he lifts both of them into the sky.

“Clark!” Bruce scolds him at the sudden action but he’s still smiling and doesn’t demand to be let down.

Clark continues to sway with Bruce in the air, a smile never leaving his face until he finally ends their dance. They both stare at each other, forms still illuminated under the northern lights and he wonders again if it’s okay to want this. It’s been years since that day in Gotham park when Clark had been asked to accompany a strange billionaire through a walk in the park. Years since they’d been this close to each other, touching each other in a way that’s not just a reassuring pat on the back or comforting hand on the shoulder. He hears Bruce’s already elevated heart rate pick up-a perfect matching rhythm to his own-and he’s moving forward without thinking.

Their first kiss is in winter, under the beautiful Aurora borealis and Bruce’s lips are chapped when they meet his-dry from the cold weather they’ve been dancing in-but he’s _kissing Clark back_ so it’s perfect. It gets even more perfect when Bruce tilts his head to deepen it.

When they part, it’s with breathless laughs and warm smiles.

“Not that I’m unhappy for everything that’s happened tonight but I think we should head on back now. Alfred will be worried and my suit isn’t exactly designed to sustain me in this weather for too long.”

Clark nods, remembering that he’d requested Bruce turn off his communicator with the rest of the Bats for this and feels grateful Bruce would trust him enough for it. He prepares to fly them back to manor.

“Next time, warn me if we’re going to go sightseeing in extreme weather again,” Bruce casually remarks as he settles into Clark’s hold for the trip.

‘Next time’. Clark wants to kiss him again.

* * *

Later that night when they’re both settled back at the manor on the couch by the fireplace, steaming cups of cocoa (prepared by an Alfred delighted that they’d ‘finally gotten their acts together’) in their hands and cuddling up against each other while watching the snow gently fall outside, Clark leans in and happily does just that.


	4. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring is the season of beginning again. For some, it means taking another step forward.

The idea had first taken root into his mind last Tuesday when he’d saved a couple from what would have been a fatal car accident. 

The two had apparently been on their way back from vacation, driving their car along what should have been an easy road to follow on a mountain pass when they had noticed their vehicle not responding the way it should. They’d been lucky that Superman was flying near and heard their screams as they plummeted off the mountain due to the brakes malfunctioning. Afterwards, he’d offered to fly them to the nearest town (he’d saved the car too but none of them were willing to chance any more rides with it anytime soon) and they’d accepted with thanks.

They hadn’t stopped thanking them the whole flight.

“Really, Superman, we really are so grateful you would take time out of your busy schedule to save us!”

“Just doing what’s right, ma’am.”

“I can’t believe she’d just give out like that, that car has been in my family for a decade and has always been reliable! Shoulda known though something was up. Thought I heard her giving out some weird noises all day yesterday. Now this happens. And right as our honeymoon ended…”

Superman blinked, noticing for the first time the shiny new rings on the couples’ hands.

“Oh dear, don’t blame yourself! I was the one who told you it should be fine to drive it today.”

“Still, to have endangered you like that, I don’t think I’d ever be able to forgive myself.”

“Oh don’t say that! It all worked out in the end, didn’t it? We’re both alive and we’ve lived through so much worse before!”

Clark almost asks what could be worse for two very squishy humans than dropping hundreds of feet from the side of a mountain into what would surely be their very painful deaths but then the two reach out to each other from either side of him and he has to shift his hold on their waists to accommodate them. 

“And we’ll always be together through thick and thin from now on. We’re married!”

“Yeah… if you’re in my life, everything will always work out.”

Clark knows he should probably be feeling awkward flying in the sky, holding onto two strangers while they made heart eyes at each other and verbally expressed their undying love. But he’d been unable to do anything but stare at their rings. His body was practically on autopilot while his attention zeroed in on the golden bands.

His brain, however, was thousands of miles away, centered on a man resting in a manor, having just returned from patrolling his beloved city and ensuring her citizens safety for the night. He imagines going there after dropping off the newly weds and trying to slip into the bed next to him without waking him. He usually always fails, and Bruce will grumble at his interrupted sleep but then throw an arm over Clark to snuggle in closer. Clark will (always) happily allow Bruce to use him as a pillow. Sometimes he’d watch Bruce sleep instead finding any for himself the whole night, not truly needing it himself and wanting to be prepared for any nightmares that might plague his lover. Besides, he was always fascinated with how calm the man could be in a peaceful sleep; the way he would relax in Clark’s arms-a silent gesture of trust that always warmed him-allowed him to admire Bruce’s body almost every night. And when the sun rose, light slowly seeping in from the partially closed curtains to frame him in a brilliant glow, Clark would take Bruce’s hand from around him to intertwine their fingers and kiss the golden band-

_Oh…_

Clark sucked in a harsh breath, heart thumping wildly in his chest as his imagination finally caught up to him. Blinking rapidly, he tried clearing the last remnants of the fantasy his mind had conjured up. That sort of thinking wouldn’t be a wise path to follow. Rings weren’t a thing should ever be brought up right now. Dating for three years was much too soon… wasn’t it? 

Yes. The answer is yes. Because if Bruce even caught a hint of what was going on, he’d direct one of those ‘are you trying to be the biggest fool in the room right now?’ glares his way. No that wasn’t fair, that’d be harsh even for Batman to look at someone like that when they were propos-...maybe one of his ‘are you under the influence of magic right now? Or perhaps a new type of kryptonite that’s skewing your sense of rationality?’ glares. 

...no that was still sort of too far even for Bruce.

_Maybe he wouldn’t be upset at all,_ his traitorous mind thinks, _maybe he would be…_

He feels something tighten in his chest, a tug that almost makes him gasp when he suddenly imagines it. Going down on one knee, taking out the precious little box in his pocket and watching as Bruce’s face goes from confusion to a stunned understanding and _then_ into something so _soft and happy_ _and he’s nodding frantically and then Clark is laughing and shooting to his feet to pick Bruce up, ignoring his half hearted protests, because he’s so relieved-_

“Um, Superman…?”

Clark is thrown out of his thoughts a second time that day when he’s called by a meek voice. He blinks, staring at the two humans in each of his arms.

“Superman, are you okay? We’ve kind of been floating here for the past ten minutes.”

They’re both looking at him nervously as one of them announces this. It’s understandable, as there is only a vast ocean below the three of them and had Clark sunk any deeper into his head, he might have dropped the extra weights in his arms without knowing. Feeling a mortified blush creeping up the back of his neck, Clark tries not to stutter too much as he gives them both an apology. The blush threatens to overtake him when they both wave his apology away-they’d been more worried that he wasn’t feeling well than the possibility of him dropping them, bless these kind souls-and he catches the sight of their rings glinting almost mockingly back at him, remembering what it was that he was thinking about in the first place to have distracted him.

He safely flies them to the nearest town and then hurriedly leaves with barely a goodbye. It wasn’t that he wanted to be rude, but it was the couple’s fault he was having such dangerous thoughts in the first place, whether they were aware or not. It’d be safer to just be as far away from the source as possible. 

The farther away he was, the farther away those dangerous thoughts of rings would be.

* * *

Just as he’d predicted, Bruce is none too pleased when Clark lifts up the blanket to lay down beside him, letting out sleepy noises that are probably complaints to the cold air brushing against him in those few seconds. Chuckling, the kryptonian opens his arms in welcome and apology as Bruce snuggles closer, burying his face into the crook of Clark’s neck and soaking up the heat offered with a contented hum.

“Late today…” Bruce mumbles against his throat, sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

“Sorry, I got side tracked,” he apologizes, rubbing at his boyfriend’s shoulders soothingly, “There was a couple who had a car malfunction earlier today so I had to help them out before coming back. Also, I went and bought another bag of your favorite coffee beans.”

“Coffee…?” 

“You ran out and Alfred forgot to order some more,” although Clark suspects it’s so much as the Englishman forgot as he decided to try and cull Bruce’s not so healthy addiction to the drink, “so you would have had to wait the three to five shipping days it takes to get here. Now that I think about it though, if this _is_ one of Alfred’s attempts to get you to try one of his experimental health drinks he might not be very appreciative of-you’re not listening to me are you?”

A chuckle escapes him when Bruce shifts to give him a glare. The effect is ruined since Bruce is too tired to lift his head up all the way, resting it against Clark’s shoulder so one of his cheeks is squished up like a chipmunk with an acorn in its mouth.

“Am listening… don’t want Al’s health drink...” Bruce mutters, but his voice is steadily dropping in volume with sleep pulling at him and Clark can see the way his eyes are already drooping back closed. It’s only through sheer will of one worthy enough to claim himself the Batman that he’s even still awake.

“It’s okay B, you don’t have to drink anything you don’t want to,” Clark says, trying hard not to laugh at both Bruce’s words and the cute display he was unknowingly giving him, “Go back to sleep now, you have a company meeting tomorrow.”

“No… wait…” Bruce’s face scrunches up as he fights to stay conscious, and Clark almost admits out loud how adorable it is to witness, “Have to ask…”

“Ask what, B?” Clark prompts but moves to trace the scars on his lover’s back, following the lines gently in an attempt to lull him into rest. Bruce’s eyes droop even further at his ministrations but he doesn’t give in, blinking tired eyes up at Clark with a dazed look that pulls at his heart.

“How was…” Bruce blinks twice and shakes his head as if to clear it of the fogginess threatening to pull him under, “How was… your day? Yeah… how was your day?” the gothamite nods his head as if proud of his achievement of finally getting his question out and goes back to resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, unaware of the way Clark’s eyes widen with surprise then fill with an unfathomable fondness.

“Oh Bruce, I told you. I went to work, went out to get you coffee beans and saved a couple from a car accident…” he trails off, hoping Bruce will finally give in to his exhaustion. Not that he’s _not_ extremely happy Bruce would go so far as to fight how tired he was merely to ask about Clark’s day but the kryptonian knows just how little sleep his boyfriend had gotten over the last few days because of a new case-not to mention how busy his company keeps him during the day (despite how little he makes it _seem_ like Bruce Wayne does for Wayne Enterprise)-and he knows Bruce desperately _needs_ to get more than a two hour nap tonight.

“Accident…?” But it seems Bruce was stubbornly refusing to acknowledge this fact.

“Bruce,” Clark sighs in exasperation, “If I tell you about it, will you go to sleep? Please?”

The man half sprawled over him makes a small grunt that could have been agreement so Clark goes on to tell him about the couple, glossing over various details like how he’d heard them only because he was on his way to pick up Bruce’s coffee beans or how they were newly weds who coming back from a blissful honeymoon, rings still shiny new and gleaming in the sunlight…

“...Clark?” Bruce mumbles against his skin, lips ghosting over a pulse that has Clark almost jolting at the pleasant sensation and the reporter realizes he had stopped talking in the middle of his story, “...thinking about?”

“Rings.” Clark’s mouth answers without his brain’s approval and in the following silence, makes a halted movement to slap a hand over it, eyes widening in panic as he freezes, waiting for Bruce’s reaction.

When nothing happens, save for the continued silence of the other man, Clark finally looks down to see, with immense relief, that Bruce was finally asleep. The breath he’d been unconsciously holding came out in a rush as he tried calming down his erratic heart, not able to believe that he’d almost made such a colossal mistake. A shudder racked through him when he realized just how bad it could have been if Bruce had been able to hear him; scenarios ranging from mild irritation to being fully kicked out of the manor all ran through his head.

He shakes his head, telling himself not to dwell on such negative thoughts and carefully moves to cuddle his boyfriend more comfortably. Right now he’s here, Bruce is sleeping in his arms after a tiring day and Clark is both extremely happy and grateful that he gets to have this. He doesn’t need to think about newly weds or special rings or any other thoughts that could ruin it.

He tell himself this over and over as he goes to grab Bruce’s hand, distinctly _not_ rubbing the spot where such a thing would go.

And come morning, Clark vows (ha!) to _not_ think about it at all.

* * *

Clark… may be having a bit more difficulty not thinking about it than he’d initially thought…

The first hiccup had been he’d woken up-after spending maybe an hour closing his eyes-to Alfred wheeling in breakfast for them with a freshly brewed pot of coffee using the beans Clark had brought over last night and, after giving a groggy, just woken up Bruce his schedule for the day, politely left with a subtle look in Clark’s direction.

(Clark reminds himself he was going to have to apologize to the butler later.)

Bruce is looking at the cup of coffee in confusion, sniffing it every five seconds as if he was unsure whether it was real or not. When he takes a tentative sip, he blinks in surprise, downing the rest of it quickly after.

“Didn’t we run out of this brand yesterday?” he asks the while still staring at the empty cup as if it would have the answers.

Clark chuckles as he watches this, reaching out to take the cup out of the other’s hand and setting it back on the breakfast tray, trading it with the croissant he’d been filling with some hazelnut spread. Bruce took it with a grateful hum.

“You don’t remember? I got some more for you last night,” Clark says this while reaching over for his own croissant, consuming it plain.

“What?” He watches Bruce process this, eyebrows furrowing in thought as he chews his breakfast, looking to the side as if he was having trouble remembering. 

“To be fair, you were mostly out of it with sleep deprivation last night so…” Clark shrugs, glancing to the tray to pick out something else they can eat. But a hand stops him from moving, and when he turns back, it’s to Bruce smirking in that particular way that always gets Clark’s body hot in no time at all.

“That so? Well I’ll have to thank you properly, won’t I?” the man practically purrs, turning up his _Brucie_ persona all the way to max as he leans forward.

Clark has to swallow against the sudden dryness in his mouth-he’d be lying if he ever said Bruce acting out the whole ‘Brucie Wayne, billionaire playboy’ casually seducing the reporter Clark Kent didn’t short circuit his brain most of the time-before he manages to get out a strained, “Yeah?”

Bruce nods once then tilts his head just enough to draw attention to his neck, as if he were purposefully baring his throat. Clark’s eyes zero in on it immediately, the urge to lean and lick the expanse of it all the way up to Bruce’s ear where he could gently suck at the spot that never failed to force a pleased gasp from his lover has him unconsciously wetting his lips. Bruce’s eyes darken a little more at that and he leans forward, resting a hand on Clark’s chest to balance himself, for a kiss. It doesn’t last very long but when they part, Bruce lets out a pleased hum and something warm fits itself in Clark like it always does when they’re being affectionate.

He lays a hand over the one grasping his shirt, intent on pulling the other closer for another kiss, but when he makes contact- _something_ inside him just sort of... freezes. He looks down at Bruce’s hand, a curious thought coming unbidden in his mind of how well their hands fit together. As he runs his thumb over those fingers, gaze fixed on one in particular, he imagines holding out a hand like he did during that special night in the North pole when he’d taken Bruce to see the auroras but instead of a cold snowy landscape _, it’s in the middle of their reception after they’d just made their vows and he’s asking for the first couple’s dance-_

“Clark?” Bruce’s voice snaps him out of it and his eyes shoot up into the other’s eyes. Silver blue stare back at him in something that might be worry and Clark takes a mental second to berate himself.

“Sorry,” he apologizes immediately, thinking quickly he adds, “I thought I heard something but it was nothing. The police took care of it.”

Bruce says nothing for a minute, and Clark could practically see the equations in his head, calculating the amount of bullshit his boyfriend was trying to sell him. The kryptonian bites the inside of his cheek to prevent saying anything he’d regret.

“Alright boy scout,” Bruce sighs with a small smirk, ultimately deciding to go with Clark’s words, “If you say so.”

Clark almost makes the mistake of sighing out in relief, something his lover would take note of he was sure.

“So…” he begins, intertwining their fingers so he won’t be distracted by the thought of how bare one of them was, “You were saying something about thanking me properly?”

Bruce’s smirk turns absolutely devious as he swings a leg over to straddle Clark, one hand still being held by his boyfriend but the other goes to cup the back of the kryptonian’s neck. He leans in to speak right into Clark’s ear.

“Yes, I believe I did.”

Clark groans when they kiss again, hand moving to grab at Bruce’s ass.

He just needs to get a hold of himself. Stop thinking about stupid rings and stupid weddings. It should be easy.

* * *

To Clark’s credit, he really does try.

...it’s just, maybe he would be succeeding if everything around him doesn’t constantly _remind_ him of it.

Like that one Monday when Cat came in, dragging Clark into her enthusiastic gossip rant of the newest hit couple and how fast they would be married, the groom already having been seen in public looking for the ‘perfect engagement ring’.

(Clark may have spent one too many hours that night on his laptop, squinting at all the similar looking gold bands for men, trying to figure out which one would fit the best).

Or that one Saturday he was having breakfast with Bruce and the news had announced Batman successfully stopping Scarecrow from using religious artifacts as his new fear symbol, battling it out in Gotham’s biggest church.

(Clark spent the next two days finding himself researching the difference between Church and outside weddings).

And then there was that Friday he’d video called his parents to chat like he did every week. The whole hour they’d spent talking, Clark had to refocus on their topic of discussion rather than the fact that he was bearing witness to what a successful marriage was between two people who loved each other more than anything.

(He dreamed that night about what it would be like to live out the rest of his life, to _grow old_ with Bruce and woke up in tears).

...he was officially screwed…

* * *

The screen of his laptop slammed shut and Clark blinked at the hand that forced it to do so, looking up from his position on his work desk. Lois stares back down at him, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

“Alright Smallville, we’re going out for lunch break,” she announces and then doesn’t wait for his answer to head straight to her own desk and grab her jacket.

Clark blinks again, deciding on what to do in his head for all of one second before mentally shrugging and getting up to follow her. It’s not like he’d written anything on the blank document in front of him for the past hour anyway.

They reach the familiar and quaint little diner down by the block in no time and the elderly waitress gives them both a wave and smile before setting down their menus and walking off to give them time. Lois places an elbow on the table immediately after she’s gone, resting her head on her hand to regard Clark with a raised brow.

“So then, what’s up?”

“Uh, well I’m working on an article about the new-”

Lois snorts and rolls her eyes at him, “Yeah because a new article is the reason you’ve been spacing out for hours at work in front of your computer screen not typing a single word out to make the deadline that’s coming up in two days. Try again.”

Clark frowns, contemplating the pros and cons of admitting what’s really been on his mind, as much as he’d like to deny it, these last few days. He mulls it over for as much time as it takes for the waitress to come back and take their orders before leaving again before he decides, if nothing else, finally getting it off his chest would take some of the stress away. 

“Well it’s… about Bruce,” he begins but stops when Lois snorts again.

“Trouble in paradise, then?” she asks. While it had been discussed how Clark and Bruce were going to tell the public about their relationship, they had both agreed it needed to be done or both parties would end up with broken hearts. Bruce had been the one to come up with the idea of ‘surprising’ his new boyfriend at the _Daily Planet_ with a boquet of flowers and sweet kisses, showering Clark in a very public display of affection before he left with promise to pick him up at 7 PM. Clark still finds it amusing how many jaws dropped that day.

“No,” he shakes his head, “It’s not like that.”

Lois nods at him to keep going. So he starts talking, beginning from that day he’d saved the two newly weds who’d still never gotten the names of to how he’d fixated on their talk of being together and married to how he almost accidentally told Bruce about being fixated to not even being able to look at his parents without hearing church bells in the distance. By the time he’s almost done, the waitress comes back with their food and Clark takes the break to finish with, “And now all I can think about is rings.”

“You mean rings on you and Bruce,” Lois hums when he’s finally done, chewing on one of her fries while tilting her head curiously at him.

“...yes,” he admits, somewhat sulky if he were to be honest.

She doesn’t say a word until her fry is done and then it’s only to ask him one question.

“So what’s the problem then?”

Clark snaps his head in her direction quick enough to brush some of her hair off her shoulders from the force of the wind current he generated to gape at her.

“What do you mean, ‘what’s the problem’?”

“I mean what I said, what’s the problem?” Lois gives him a look as if she doesn’t understand why he’s being obtuse, “So you’re planning to propose.”

_The image of him down on one knee pops up again. The face Bruce makes as Clark asks him The Question is one of happiness. He nods and laughs with Clark as he’s picked up and twirled around_. 

A sound that could be similar to that of a dog dying escapes his mouth and Lois’s lips quirk up at it. He clutches at the table almost hard enough to break it.

“You _want_ to propose, right?” she asks him.

“...yes,” he strains out, because lying at this point really isn’t worth it. He’s spilled out pretty much everything to one of his oldest friends already.

“So then… I will ask you one more time, okay Smallville?” Lois takes one deep breath, holding it in and then dramatically breathing out as if to prepare herself for what she’s about to say, the amused twinkling in her eyes never leave though when she asks, “What is the problem?”

Clark opens his mouth once. Then closes it. Blinks twice before he lets out a breath himself, careful not to freeze their lunch.

“...what if he says no?” he finally manages, his whole body running cold the second he admits what he’s feared this whole time. To his utter embarrassment, there’s even a stinging in his eyes.

“Oh Clark…” Lois’s expression softens considerably at this and her smile turns sad but fond as she takes his hand to squeeze it reassuringly, “Why would you say that?”

“Because,” his shoulders slump as he looks at her with puppy eyes, “Bruce isn’t the type to consider these kinds of things, especially not so early yet. And I don’t blame him, of course, it’s a huge commitment to say yes to something like this and he’s been hurt so much before and-”

“Okay, okay stop!” Lois holds up a hand to halt his ranting, and looks him straight in the eye, “First of all, you two have been dating for around three years now? You visit him practically everyday and stay over during the weekends and I’m not the romance column specialist but even I know that’s fine you two are practically living together already- _and even if it wasn’t the case_ ,” she emphasizes when it seems like Clark is about to interrupt, “Everyone is different. So I’m going to ask _you_ , Clark, one very important thing.”

She waits until he nods, signaling for her to go on without saying a word and she seems to approve because she’s smiling again.

“Clark, you told me yes when I asked if you wanted to propose to him. So now I’m asking, _why_ do you want to marry him?”

Clark doesn’t know how to respond for a while to a question like that. But she never pressures him, gives him time to figure out his answer. It should be obvious, shouldn’t it? It’s because-

_(Because of that one evening out in Gotham Park where Clark first met Bruce. Where they both were establishing what they wanted to do; two lonely but similar souls seeking comfort in the crazy, changing world around them. It’s because Bruce had taken his hand that one night out under the beautiful Aurora borealis and danced with him, both out of breath, taking that one step towards a happiness neither of them thought possible with each other. Holding onto each other because-)_

“Because I love him,” Clark’s eyes widen, heart thundering in his chest, “I want to marry him because I _love him!_ ”

Lois’s smile is a very pleased one and Clark feels lighter seeing it, knowing she whole heartedly thinks his desire to marry the man he loves is nothing foolish at all. But he still can’t get rid of that one little doubt it in his mind that Bruce would still say no. And she must see something that gives him away because she sighs an exasperated fond sigh and shakes her head at him.

“Clark, I don’t know Bruce other than the times I’ve had to interview him for an article. So I don’t know what he’s really like,” she starts and then squeezes his hand again, “You’ve been dating him for three years, been _partners_ for even longer than that. Ask yourself this, really take your time to think about it. Would he really say no?”

Clark does as she instructs. Takes his time to think about how long he’d known Bruce after he’d gotten to passed his billionaire playboy persona. How many times they’ve teamed up to save the day. How Bruce had finally admitted they were more than just work colleagues. How Clark had been introduced to each of Bruce’s sons. How Bruce had invited him over to visit whenever they had the time to chat. How he first convinced Bruce to take the day off. How they shared their first kiss in a place that was special to Clark. How they’d slowly but surely found a pace to develop their relationship that just worked for both of them. How Clark fell in love so deeply he can’t stop thinking about proposing. How Bruce loves him back so much, he would force himself to stay awake after surely being in a state of pure exhaustion just to _ask Clark how his day went._

“So have you got your answer?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

Lois offers to help him shop for a ring but he politely refuses, wanting to find the perfect one himself. She gives him a snort of amusement but pats his arm in encouragement.

“Just remember, I want exclusive interview rights to both grooms during the public wedding _and_ an invitation to the actual private one.”

Clark agrees, knowing he owes her so much and spends the next three weeks constantly shopping in stores for any rings that catch his eye. The ones online had all seemed so alike but the moment he actually sets eyes on them, everything just didn’t seem like the right one.

It’s not until the very last day of the third week of searching that he sees it. His heart stops along with his feet when he spots it from outside the window and in the next second, he’s inside, almost frantically asking after it. He doesn’t even remember if he’d used his powers too quickly in front of the jeweler but he can’t spare a thought to care at the moment as the professionally dressed woman takes the rings out for him to inspect.

They’re absolutely perfect. In front of him were two silver bands instead of the gold he’d imagined so frequently but what really caught his attention was the pale blue jewel that was engraved in a simple pattern around the whole ring. Under the right lighting, they were very similar to the color of Bruce’s eyes.

“I’ll take them please, how much?”

The woman states the price to him (expensive as expected but nothing he couldn’t really afford) before asking about ring sizes. He gives her everything she needs of him and walks out of the store in a daze.

* * *

While Clark thought the hard part would be finding the right ring. He was soon to be proven wrong when he finally had the rings perfectly sized and shipped straight to the apartment he owned in Metropolis.

It was choosing the right day to propose.

No matter how many times Clark would go to bed the night before, mind ready and made up to finally pop The Question to Bruce, he’d find the words stuck in his throat when the time actually came. What usually comes out, instead, is a very worrying sound that has Bruce asking about his well being with true concern lacing his voice. Clark assures him, with a red face every time, that he was fine, just choked on his spit.

It was getting to the point where Bruce’s concern was tipping into suspicion, eyes narrowing at him every time Clark tries and fails to bring out the box he carried with him all times nowadays. 

Bruce finally confronts him over after dinner, when they’re both cuddled up on the couch, Bruce reading over some documents from W.E. and Clark editing his latest article. They’d both been silent for over twenty minutes, nothing but the sounds of keys tapping filling the room when Clark reaches over to grab his glass of lemonade. It’s right as he’s taking a sip that Bruce finally says something.

“So what have you been hiding?”

Clark chokes on the lemonade, managing not spill any as he sets his glass back down while he coughs. He glares at the other man half heartedly, knowing he’d done it on purpose but the moment he sees Bruce no longer pretending to work on his documents, staring Clark down, he clears his throat, avoiding his gaze.

“I don’t know what-”

“Clark, you have been distracted enough to run into the walls three times in the last week. You’ve been spacing out during dinner, not even chewing until I’d pointed it out and you almost ripped off the bedroom door this morning,” Bruce lists, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes into a glare as if to daring Clark to lie. Clark can’t really come up with one anyway, wincing at all the destruction (both physical and emotionally to Alfred, poor man Clark hadn’t been the best of guests lately) he’d caused. 

“I… it’s just…” Clark starts but halts several times, trying to find the right way to do this but feeling only frustrated when they don’t come out. From the beginning, he’d always been the one more open with affection, wrapping an arm around Bruce’s shoulder or kissing his cheek goodbye for work were all things he’d done without any hesitation before. But saying “I love you, please marry me” was apparently out of his ability.

The feeling of a hand on his shoulder startles him out of his growing negative thoughts. Bruce is giving him one of his more frequent looks of concern again and Clark’s heart clenches when he sees a bit of fear in his expression too.

“Clark, what is it? Are you… sick? Is it a kryptonian ailment?”

“What? No, no! It’s nothing like that-I… I just…”

“You just what, Clark?”

Bruce isn’t looking very convinced it’s not some alien disease that’s taken hold of him so Clark sighs, deciding ‘to hell with it’ as he pulls out the box from his pocket and shows it to Bruce without a word.

There’s a beat of silence. Bruce’s eyes widen. Clark feels his heart jump to his throat.

Then, with a gentle sort of reverence, Bruce takes the box with shaky hands and opens it. Clark hears the quiet gasp and the quickening of Bruce’s heart but all he can focus on is Bruce’s face. His mouth keeps opening and closing as if to say something but can’t decide on where to start and his eyes keep darting back and forth between the box and Clark.

Finally he licks his lips, eyes falling one more time to the box cradled in his hands before settling his gaze back on Clark.

“Is this…?”

Clark nods, not knowing where he finds the strength to get up from the couch to get down on one knee. He can’t ignore the way Bruce’s breath hitches at the action, heart rate picking up even quicker now. He reaches to open the lid on the box then moves to pull one of Bruce’s hands into his. There’s both hope and a little bit of fear in his voice when he finally asks, “Will you marry me?”

Bruce’s reaction isn’t what he was expecting. He ducks his head-effectively hiding any expression from Clark’s eyes-and his whole body starts shaking. For one very scary moment, Clark thinks this is the moment where all his fears are coming to reality; Bruce is so furious with him he’ll demand the other leave and never come back. But then he hears a very strange noise, a sort of half snort, half choking sound and Clark almost doesn’t believe his ears.

When Bruce looks back up at him, Clark takes in the red face, the unshed tears and still shaking body and yes, he realizes, Bruce is holding back laughter.

“God… you’ve been acting so strange, I thought-” Bruce makes another choked sound, pulling his hand out of Clark’s hold to cover his face, laughs again; a wet, desperate noise that has something terrible ache in his chest. “I thought you were _dying_.”

Clark makes a small noise of horror as he gets up to gently move Bruce’s hand away, cupping his lover’s face with his own palms. His own eyes are shining with unshed tears now as he caresses both thumbs along the other’s cheeks, whispering ‘sorry, I’m sorry’ over and over again while placing small kisses on first his forehead then nose then mouth. 

When they’ve both calmed enough that there were no more tears and Bruce’s breathing has gone back to normal, the billionaire leans forward to bump his head into his lover’s chest. Clark runs his hand through Bruce’s hair soothingly for a few seconds before he feels the man mumble something into his shirt. With a small frown of confusion, he asks him to repeat himself.

“I said yes.” Bruce says, pulling back just enough to have his words clearly heard but not too far out of Clark’s reach.

“‘Yes’?” Clark asks, mind blanking for one second before he catches sight of the box still being held in Bruce’s hand and his eyes widen in realization, “‘Yes’ as in…?”

Bruce clears his throat, eyes downcast. He bites his bottom lip, uncharacteristic uncertainty filtering through his voice when he mutters, “If you’ve changed your mind…”

“No!” Clark hurries to dispute the very thought, heart beginning to hammer with hope again as he wraps both arms around Bruce, “I have absolutely not changed my mind.”

“Oh… then,” Bruce huffs out a laugh, this one sounding lighter and a thousand times better compared to all the previous ones he’d given today and Clark’s almost stops breathing when Bruce reaches up to cup his cheek, thumb sliding back and forth in the same exact way Clark had done for him, “I will gladly marry you, Clark.”

Some time in the future, Clark will take his time to ponder on today and how they both moved on from a teary misunderstanding so quickly into what could quite possibly be the happiest moment in his life. For now, he’s too busy lifting Bruce into the air and twirling him all around the room to care.

* * *

_White looks good on him_.

That’s the one single prominent thought running through his head over and over as he holds Bruce’s hands in his. His eyes run over every inch of his fiancé-very soon to be _husband_ -on the white suit they’d picked out together, on the smile that must be a mirror of the one he wears on his own face, on how Bruce just seems to _glow_ at that very moment before settling on the ring on his left hand. Just as he’d thought, it matched Bruce’s eyes perfectly.

“Do you, Clark Kent, take Bruce Wayne to be your husband?” Diana asks him.

Funny how just a few hours beforehand, he’d been in the prep room, nerves consuming him to the point of nausea. Lois had made fun of him for it but he’s eternally grateful for her support, reminding him what was waiting for him at the end of the day: a brand new chapter with the love of his life.

“I do.” He answers now without a hint of hesitation.

“And do you, Bruce Wayne, take Clark Kent to be your husband?”

There’s an amused glint in Bruce’s eyes when he stares back at Clark, as if he knows exactly what had almost occurred in his fiance’s dressing room earlier. Clark can’t spare any time to feel too embarrassed though, all he can manage is a sheepish grin which causes Bruce’s expression to become much more fond. His voice is soft and warm, so full of love that it nearly sends Clark to tears when he answers Diana.

“I do.”

“Then, here and now, your love and commitment to each other has been recognized by me and my people. By the power vested in me, I give our blessings to this union forever more. You may kiss each other.”

And if having their wedding blessed by a literal goddess herself isn’t the ultimate sign they were meant to be together, Clark didn’t know what was.

As he leans in to seal their vows with a kiss, Clark remembers the day he’d proposed and how that might have been the happiest moment of his life. But as Bruce slyly turns their kiss into something more passionate-with way too much tongue to be appropriate with Clark’s parents sitting in the front row-he might have been wrong.

(Even if he literally feels his face burning at how most of their guests whistle and shout in encouragement after they part).

* * *

The first night of their honeymoon is spent in Maui, Hawaii. Although the welcome and accommodations were top notch (considering Bruce had managed to book the whole island to themselves for the week), Clark had thought they’d spend it relaxing after a nice dinner. They’d just gotten off their private flight not many hours ago, after all, and he was sure jet lag had to have taken some toll on Bruce.

But the moment they step foot into the resort’s best bedroom, and they’re left alone for the rest of the evening, Bruce grabs onto his shirt with a heated look that has a very particular side of Clark standing at attention. He’s dragged to the bed in no time at all and then Bruce falls back onto it, pulling Clark on top of him.

“Wait, Bruce. It was a pretty long flight here, aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to sleep first?” Clark tries to reason, not that he’s against wherever this is headed (and he’s not really doing anything to stop Bruce from unbuttoning his shirt) but it did take them longer to arrive than initially thought due to unexpected turbulent weather and he knows Bruce hadn’t managed to get much sleep at all during the plane ride.

“Hmm, not nearly tired enough for that,” Bruce brushes his concern off and then shifts to wrap his legs around Clark’s waist. That, plus the way he smirks as he cups the back of Clark’s neck to pull him down until their lips are barely brushing, has all the blood in Clark’s body rush south.

“Bruce…” he says, just for the sake of it at this point but the next words that come out of Bruce’s mouth has him forgetting what he should be doing.

“But I’m sure you can help with that, _husband_.”

There’s been two instances where Clark thought he’d experienced the happiest moments of his life. _This, right here,_ he thinks, _might be a very close third._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spring is also the season to plant seeds ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )
> 
> (Don't worry there's no mpreg, I just think I'm funny.)


	5. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer is spent relaxing with your family. You've got all the time in the world now.

“Are you sure about this, Kal?”

This would be the fifth time in the last half an hour that Wonder Woman would ask him this but Clark doesn’t feel any irritation, simply smiling beatifically at her before answering cheerfully, “Yup!” again. He moves over to grab another item from his personal Watchtower office-a picture frame of him and Bruce, surrounded by all the Batkids last Christmas-that he thinks he’ll place it on the mahogany desk in Bruce’s study. It’ll look good next to the picture they took together by the beach on their honeymoon.

“It’s just… isn’t this a little sudden?”

Clark makes a noncommittal hum as he moves around the large work desk (now that he thinks about it, why did he ever have one anyway? Any documents pertaining to the Justice League had always been more back-up physical files of digital ones already entered into the main database anyway… “oh well, it’s too late to worry about that now…”) to pick up the potted plant Dick had given him two years ago to ‘spice up this dreary looking place’, placing it gently down next to the picture frame.

“...you’re not listening to me, are you?”

At that tone, Clark finally pauses mid way through flying up to grab another item from one of the higher shelves to look back at her. Diana has her arms crossed, lips pursed in annoyance. He shakes his head and reaches behind him for the Batman plush hidden behind a gaudy vase before he flies back down to land in front of her.

“I’ve been listening, Diana. But, like I’ve said, I’ve made up my mind and there’s nothing that can change it.” He finishes his sentence with a pat on the toy in his hand to shake away any invisible dust.

Diana doesn’t say anything back for a while, just watching as one of her best friends fusses with the plush toy in his hands, smiling down at it as if it were the real Batman. A ridiculous thought, considering how long since… well since there’s _been_ a Batman.

_But perhaps_ , she thinks with a sudden dawning realization, _That’s the reason we’re having this conversation in the first place._

“But quitting the Justice League-”

“I’m not _quitting_ the Justice League Diana, I’m _retiring_ ,” Clark corrects her, tilting his head her way just the slightest to remind her of the playful domestic canine breeds she was quite fond of petting, “There’s a difference.”

His words make her pause, the memories of how much this man in front of her has done for the world, all the years he’d bled and cried and fought for everything that was just and good together with her and all their other comrades flashes through her mind. She is a goddess, in her veins runs the blood of immortals who will watch over the Earth for all of eternity, never to falter in their duty to protect. But for those who are mortals, for the men and women whose lives last as long as a blink for her and her people, who are strong and get hurt but are still willing to do the right thing over and over again… for her friends who she’s seen sacrifice so much…

She can’t deny they deserve, if not a lifetime, then however much time they have left in their utmost happiest.

“Yes,” she agrees, this time with a voice that makes Clark smile gratefully, “There is one. And you deserve it.”

* * *

Telling the rest of the Justice League is a bit more of battle. A very loud one.

If there are any members who aren’t yelling, it’s the ones that are looking into the files stored in the Watchtower database on how many ways Superman had been mind controlled before. Clark wonders if he should feel offended, but then thinks about how he just sprung this up on the rest of them without so much as a word about it before and thinks this an expected-albeit exaggerated, he notes, as the current Flash starts speed dialing his uncle about how the magical space ghosts have returned to render them weaker with brainwashing Supes-reaction.

The only one not freaking out, thankfully, is Wonder Woman. She’s sitting on her designated seat, as regal and beautiful as the day he met her (not that he feels envious of the fact she’ll be young forever anymore, in fact the slight wrinkles he sees on his face in the morning has him smiling even wider these days), waiting it out like Clark as the rest of the room gets it out of their system.

_At the rate nobody is losing any air to try and talk over one another, it might take a while._

And as Diana glances over to make eye contact with him, he knows they’re sharing the same exact thought in that moment.

* * *

“No, I’m not being brainwashed,” is what he begins with when they all calm down enough to let him speak, “And I’m not under the control of magic, and yes I am Superman, not an evil clone. I will gladly sit here while Diana accesses the Watchtower’s vault of kryptonite if that’s what it’ll take to convince you all.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence that fills the room as he suggests this and he feels a little guilty at the way some of the younger members fidget, avoiding eye contact. He sighs.

“This is not a decision I have made lightly, and I understand a lot of your concerns. But I think the Justice League has made so much progress, in leaps and bounds, over the years since its founding. There are so many heros out in the world fighting for good and helping each other.”

“But…” a hand raises, and he sees that it’s from a heroine usually situated in Star City, “What if we can’t handle something that pops up? What if we need Superman? Not that I’m saying the other members are lacking in any way I just-!”

He holds up a hand to stop her, giving her a kind smile to erase the nervous look on her young face.

“I’m not saying you won’t ever be able to reach me again and that I’ll just ignore the world if it needs me. I’m not going to disappear. I’m just saying I won’t be an active member anymore and I’ll only respond if it is truly a world threatening emergency.” Which means he won’t be answering any calls from anyone besides Diana for a while.

There’s still murmurs of uncertainty as most members glance at each other. Clark resists the urge to sigh when someone crosses their arms with a huff.

“I don’t get it, why would you want to ‘retire’ from the Justice League? Even if you’re saying it’s because we don’t need you, having you around would be better, wouldn’t it?” they demand.

“I’m tired,” he answers truthfully and hush goes over everyone else. He sees the various expressions of shock and disbelief cross over all their faces as they try to compute one of their strongest allies leaving from active duty for such a reason. With a wary smile, he goes on before anyone can recover, “And I just want to spend the rest of my time around those I love.”

_That_ shuts everyone up.

Diana claps her hands once to get everybody’s attention and smiles when all heads turn her way.

“Well, I for one, believe Kal-El has more than earned such a small request in the face of all he’s done. And,” her eyes harden into stone and her smile turns dangerous, “Anyone willing to dispute such a fact is free to do so with me.”

Her warning is glaringly obvious and Clark resists rolling his eyes at her dramatic act. He appreciates her support in his decision but he’s more than prepared to fight for it himself. Besides, he knows she won’t lay a finger on anyone over this… probably.

...maybe.

* * *

The second his feet touch the ground, looking up at the manor he’d called his home for many years now, Clark feels like the first time he’d ever been welcomed here. There’s hope, apprehension and not a small amount of nervousness all battling inside him as he ascends the stone steps, careful of the large box in his arms.

The moment he’s passed the front doors, he takes in the interior all over again. There’s a lot different since Alfred had moved on, so many white sheets cover the furniture that can’t be taken care of by one man, and Clark feels guilt gnaw at his soul when he realizes how long it’s been since he’d stopped to help out. Some of the areas look like they’d been cleaned recently and the guilt doubles when he thinks about Bruce trying to maintain his family’s home all by himself. 

He’s headed straight for the main study where the one grandfather clock slides open for him, beckoning him in and under to the cave. Steps light but quick, he drops the box onto the table normally used for examinations and shoots a quick greeting to Ace-who lifts his head, wagging his tail twice at seeing who it was before laying back down to continue his nap-then beelines for the man sitting at the large computer. There are various news reports on different parts of Gotham currently, plus a few opened documents that Clark is sure contains important information on whatever case the man reading them is working on but he doesn’t pay attention to any of that, doesn’t even spare a passing glance before he’s grabbing the arm of the computer chair, startling the one on it when he turns it to face him.

His arms are around Bruce before he could blink.

There’s a few beats where the only sounds that fill the cave are water that drips down the cave stalactites and the occasional rustle of the bats living farther in. Then Bruce sighs and raises his arms to return the hug.

“Does this have anything to do with how Wally was frantically asking me if you’d been exposed to the Advena Veneficus recently?”

Clark laughs, hugging Bruce just the tiniest bit more to feel the man closer before letting go.

“I see you’ve already heard the news.”

“I must admit, being woken up by the prospect of evil magical aliens coming back to seduce you into joining their colony wasn’t on my to-do list today,” Bruce smirks when Clark’s face turns a brilliant shade of red at the memory but falls very quickly when he spots the box Clark had carried in. “What is that?”

Clark follows his line of sight, “Oh that?”

“Clark…”

“I mean, you see all my things in it. I’d think it’s pretty obvious-”

“Clark Joseph Kent-Wayne.”

A shiver runs down his spine, the same as it always does when he hears his full legal name. It’s a fact that Bruce doesn’t hesitate to use whenever he needs a few seconds of silence from the kryptonian.

“Clark, what’s going on?”

Clark sighs, giving in on stretching out the inevitable.

“C’mon B, don’t act like you don’t already know what that is.” Because he refuses to believe that Bruce hasn’t already figured out what Clark had done not two hours before. If Diana hadn’t already told him, he’d have deduced everything in his brilliant mind from the scraps of what Wally had told him by now.

Bruce proves him right by tilting his head in acquiescence.

“Alright, fine. Then you know what my next question is,” he crosses his arms over his chest, raising a brow, “Why?”

And Clark has already prepared for this moment, run across all the scenarios his mind could think of to find the best way to answer that question. He takes Bruce’s hand, running his thumb along the wrinkles on each finger, brushing reverently over them before stopping at the ring he wears everyday. It’s still as shiny and beautiful as the day Clark had presented it to him and his heart swells, thinking about the immense amount of care Bruce placed in it.

“Bruce, we’re married.”

There’s a quirk of lips to this statement as he shoots back amusedly, “We’ve been married for thirty years Clark, thank you for just noticing now.”

A snort escapes him before he can stop himself and he plants his face right onto the top of the other’s head. He takes a second to breathe in the pleasant scent of minty cucumber shampoo he’d come to associate with the other man and lets a content hum.

“Thirty years… I’ve always been so grateful to be able to call you my husband all this time-”

“You’re not asking for a divorce this late in the game, are you?”

“Bruce, please!”

“I’m just saying, my lawyers would absolutely demolish any rights you’ll try to claim once you sign those papers.”

Clark shakes his head but there’s a grin on his face regardless. He loves the way Bruce’s humor had grown over the years, despite what the media says about how age has made Bruce Wayne grumpier. He knows differently, remembering how every morning he’ll wake up earlier than his husband to massage his warm hands into any aches those tired limbs would be causing. Bruce would kiss his hands in thanks, nuzzling into them and laying back onto the bed in an unconscious effort to coax them both back to sleep. Clark almost always gives in.

He thinks about this very morning, where he’d woken up to do his daily routine when _something_ changed. He’s not sure, even now, what was different about that morning than all the others. But the sight of Bruce still peacefully sleeping, unbothered by nightmares for years now, had made his mind scream at him to hold on and never let go.

So he’d given his husband the massage he deserved, taking extra time to fully get every muscle and joint that Bruce had ever hinted to feeling pain in that area and then sharing a breakfast he’d prepared before he’d headed out to the Watchtower with one single goal in mind.

“Thirty years, Bruce. We’re getting old.”

“Speak for yourself.”

He huffs out a laugh, breath blowing back some of the grey hair away from his face and he pauses, eyes fixating on the way the strands, their pigment nonexistent for someone of Bruce’s age, falls back into place. He rubs some pieces between his thumb and forefinger gently, remembering the first time he’d noticed Bruce’s hair turning lighter around the temples. He’d been much more upset than Bruce that day, sulking all around the manor well passed the morning into afternoon until Alfred could convince him to brighten up with his favorite dish.

Even then, he’d remembered feeling something pulling unpleasantly at his heart whenever he’d catch a glance of that greying temple. It didn’t help that his own hair hadn’t even a speck of lighter color as Bruce’s continued to do so over the years.

“Help me out, boy scout. I’m not a mind reader, if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you, how am I supposed to figure it out.” Bruce’s voice drags him out of the memories, making him grin.

“The greatest detective, Batman himself, unable to deduce something? Impossible.”

“Hm, technically that Batman doesn’t exist anymore.”

Clark knows how untrue that is. Even if Bruce was physically unable to continue on with his duties, having to rely most on the police nowadays-a feat he isn’t so unwilling to agree to, as Barbara has since finished the job her father had started with cleaning up the Gotham precincts of any corruption-with some help here and there for him sons, his technology and the sheer amount of property he owns in Gotham is still a major help to level any serious crime in his city.

Bruce may not be able to participate on the front lines like he once did but he won’t ever stop being Batman. But he doesn’t argue the semantics, he has long since accepted that Bruce will never give up the mantle permanently.

“So are we going to stand here all day, or are you actually going to talk?”

Clark chuckles, nodding even though Bruce can’t see.

“It’s really nothing I haven’t thought about for a while now,” he pauses, wondering how much he should reveal before deciding that there’s nothing he can hide from Bruce in the long run anyway, and he wants the man to understand his reasoning, “But I woke up this morning, realizing how long I’ve been gone from you for my last mission and coming back today to see I still haven’t moved the old couch out to make room for the new one you were planning to order… I’ve just… I’ve been thinking about how we’ve been married for thirty years Bruce and even with the red sun lamps I’m _still_ not anywhere near catching up to you and I just…don’t want to waste anymore...” he chokes, slightly horrified to feel his throat tightening up as his eyes sting but he pushes through. He needs Bruce to hear the rest.

“I just want to spend the rest of our time,” the words hurt as being said out loud but logically he knows this will be the point where he lets Bruce know he accepts the differences in their biology. He’ll accept that he will still be here far longer than he wants after Bruce is gone but he can live with the pain of loss when it happens because he’ll be, “by your side every waking second from now on.”

Finished with his speech, he waits for Bruce to respond. He waits what feels like forever.

Bruce sighs and glances back towards his chair. Clark hurriedly picks up him-ignoring the grumble of protest at ‘being coddled’-before placing him on the seat. He stares at Bruce’s blank face for another quiet moment before the man finally speaks.

“Have you at least warned anyone else before Diana confronted you this morning?”

Clark blinks. Then sheepishly runs a hand behind his neck without a word.

“ _Clark.”_

He winces, feeling the disapproval like a physical slap to the back of his head, “It’s not as if I won’t help out if I’m absolutely needed. Diana still has both our private numbers.”

Bruce rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment further on the abrupt way Clark had left any further. A fact which surprises him but not something he intends to encourage either. Instead he lifts up a hand to cup the other man’s cheek, smiling warmly when Bruce leans into the touch.

“...I do hope you weren’t being literal when you said ‘every waking second’.”

Clark huffs, amused despite himself and bends down to hide his grin in Bruce’s hair. He’ll never get tired of that snark, not that he’d ever admit so.

“I’m serious. I won’t tolerate you coddling me just because you have nothing better to do these days.”

“Bruce,” Clark shifts back just the slightest so he can tilt the other’s chin up towards him and says with the utmost sincerity, “I will pamper and spoil you for the years to come because you are the love of my life and you deserve all of it.” And proceeds to move back in to seal that promise with a kiss.

“Hm, sap.”

But Clark is delighted when Bruce doesn’t protest any more and returns the kiss. It’s chaste but lovely all the same and Clark has only just begun to think about asking Bruce to postpone any work so they could go out to the little diner in the city he was quite fond of when a voice, young and unfamiliar, interrupts them from the cave entrance.

“Hey Wayne, I think I got a lead on-holy slag, is that Superman?!”

Clark blinks, turning around to get a good look at the young man (can’t be older than highschool) gaping at them from the top of the stairs. He takes in the black hair and blue eyes then his gaze slowly drags back to Bruce who meets his stare with a raised brow. Clark’s shoulders slump, on the verge of pouting.

“When were you going to tell me you adopted another one?”

* * *

Terry McGinnis, he figures out-after the boy had recovered from sputtering at the idea of Bruce adopting him (or having adopted several kids before him)-lives with his loving, hardworking mother and ‘twip of little brother’ (his words) in a comfortable apartment on the other side of Gotham. On paper, he’s started visiting Wayne manor two weeks ago to run errands for an elderly man, hoping for a good recommendation to work for his boss’s company after he graduates school. Officially, his job title is Wayne’s assistant. 

Unofficially...

“Your completion time was three seconds slower than yesterday, and you almost fell off the third building on the way to the first checkpoint. Go back to the beginning and do it over.” Bruce’s voice leaves no room for argument, it’s one that Clark’s heard numerous times before and he smiles, feeling nostalgia wash over him as he makes his way from the cave entrance, two steaming mugs in hand. Memories of the times he’d witnessed the man trained all his previous proteges come to mind.

A groan filters through the comm link in crystal clear quality, noting just how Terry feels about that.

“C’mon Wayne, I’ve run this course twice already. And yeah, I stumbled that last time but I still made it to the finish line!”

“Your goal is to _improve_ your run time, not to settle for the opposite. Now go again.”

There’s another groan, this one louder and more drawn out but the camera connected to the lenses of the newest batsuit lenses turn obediently back to the starting point of the obstacle course Bruce has set all the way across the city harbor. Clark notes, as he’s setting a mug of cocoa in front of the computer and greets his husband with a kiss on the cheek, that this was one of Bruce’s favorite paths to patrol around, where the old gothic buildings are sturdy enough to never give whenever a grapple hook digs deep into its ledges. The height also allows a good view of whatever crime goes down below.

Bruce mumbles his thanks, leaning in to the affectionate gesture and picks up his mug. All the while not looking away from the screen in front of him.

“Hey, is that Superman with you?”

“No. Now less talking, more running McGinnis.”

“Oh please, I can practically see the floating hearts you two are admitting through the batsuit. Hey Superman, can you please convince Wayne I need feeling in my legs in order to go on my date later tonight. Wayne might have spent the last three decades in marital bliss with a super powered alien that can deadlift the heaviest Gotham skyscraper without breaking a sweat so he’s totally out of what’s considered appropriate for a romantic night out, but the rest of us are still on step one with regular, every day humans.”

Clark’s grins, just barely resisting the urge to laugh when he sees the unamused purse of Bruce’s lips, and goes to reassure the kid, “Terry, one more run won’t impede your date tonight.”

“Fine, but if my jelly legs cause me to accidentally trip over and make a total dreg out of myself in front of Dana, I’m going to blame you two on the fact that I will have to live out the rest of my life as an old, bitter _single_ man cursing the isolation forced onto me because of ‘one more run’.”

Clark can’t hold in his laughter anymore. He can’t wait to introduce the kid to Diana, he’s sure she, along with the rest of the League, will love this young, new Batman.

“I like this one, Bruce. He’s got sass.” Clark leans over to kiss the top of Bruce’s head.

“Hm, you like all of them.”

“Oh no, are you two flirting? Please at least let me mute the comm for the next five minutes.”

* * *

Clark really likes Terry.

The kid’s got spunk, he’s not afraid to talk back to Bruce no matter the amount of respect he has for him (Clark can see that it’s a lot), and he’s smart, mapping out various routes and the figuring the best way of handling gang hideouts from his past with one (a fact he admits to shamefully but neither Bruce nor Clark ever admonishes him for, they know Terry’s decision now to make up for it says much more about him than any previous mistake) plus he’s got a good sense of justice, all things perfect for taking on the role of Batman.

But he’s young and prone to making impulsiveness decisions that might not be the best for certain situations. Clark almost had to step in when Terry had rushed into a crime lord’s base preemptively because they’d succesfully baited him into it. The tongue lashing he’d received from Bruce had Clark wincing in sympathy.

So he knows that Terry will need guidance for a time yet. Bruce will continue to be a mentor and act as back up for as long as it will take his new protege to be ready to fly on his own. As much as Bruce likes to deny it, after all, he’s always been inclined to obsess over making sure he’s prepared all his boys for anything that comes their way. He won’t ever budge from the self appointed position.

* * *

Which is why he’s surprised when Bruce agrees to spend a whole week with Clark on his parent’s farm. It’s not even a holiday, not really. Summer vacation for public schools had just started and Clark had planted a small corn field two months ago back in the beginning of spring. He’s had large success in the past when he’d helped his Ma and Pa grow them and brought plenty of sweet tasting back to eat every time. During breakfast, he’d made an off hand comment about flying over to check the field and water it the day after and, when asked how long he’d been planning to stay, Clark had responded he’d need only half the day.

“I’ll be back in time for lunch, I’m thinking about picking up a whole chicken on the way. Are you feeling up for rotisserie?” he asked, picking his empty plate to bring it over to the sink.

“You only need half a day?”

Clark blinked, pausing mid scrub as he glances back with a raised brow.

“Well no, the chicken will be done within an hour at most.”

Bruce huffs as if Clark’s being purposefully difficult again.

“I meant the corn. I’m asking you if you only need half a day every week to tend to it.”

“Oh, well no. Corn actually needs to be seen to everyday, but only watered around once a week. I fly over real quick whenever I can.”

“How long does it take to completely grow?”

“Hmm, it varies. Two to three months typically, though.” 

“So they should be ready to harvest any day now.”

“Yeah, which is why I want to make sure they’re doing good. Check out for any bugs and all that.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to stay until they’re completely ready though?”

Clark shrugs, grabbing a towel to wipe off most of the water from washing, “Sure but that could still take weeks.” And it’s not like he can’t use his powers to quickly examine for anything wrong. Besides, staying means more time spent away from Bruce and he-

But Bruce’s casual, “Alright then, I’ll pack tonight,” has him almost dropping the plate he was about to stack for drying. His head whips back around to stare wide eyed at Bruce who raises a brow at his reaction.

“What?”

“You’re going to pack because you go with me…?” he pauses, mind whirling with the impossible notion that Bruce is planning to go with him to the farm. To stay with him on the farm for _weeks_ so he could take care of his corn. Impossible that meant he couldn’t overlook Terry’s training in that amount of time.

“Yes,” Bruce says, voice dipping into the ‘Clark, you’re being difficult again’ tone.

“But…” Clark trails off, trying to make sense of what Bruce was doing. It’s not like he won’t come back the same day, there’s no need for Bruce to accompany him.

“Of course, if I’m not invited-” Bruce begins to backtrack, shrugging one shoulder and looking to the side as if he wasn’t bothered by such a thought. Clark is immediately making his way over, taking both of his hands and kissing them.

“No, of course not, Bruce. You’re more than welcome to come with me.” Clark reassures him, but then imagines spending the day working out in the field as Bruce waits for him inside so the heat doesn’t get to him, “But won’t you be bored?”

“Don’t worry, boy scout, I’ll have plenty to do while I’m there.” Bruce responds matter of factly.

Clark feels relieved, realizing that Bruce was probably going to bring his work with him to the farm. He’ll be able to communicate with Terry so he’s not neglecting Gotham while he’s there, keeping company with his husband. Clark thinks about how Bruce is leaving the comfort of his beloved city just to be with him and he feels a pleasant warmth working its way over him.

Sure Bruce is probably going to ignore him while he works on the several laptops he brings with him to keep check on Gotham and Batman but just having his presence there will be all that Clark needs.

“Okay then, I’ll help you pack.”

* * *

“And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call either of us okay? We’ll head on right over.”

Clark pats Terry’s shoulder as he says this, giving the kid an encouraging smile. The amused secretive grin he gets back has him blinking in surprise.

“Don’t worry about me, Clark. I’ve got the whole squad behind me here. You two just focus on getting some sun and enjoying yourselves okay?”

Clark blinks again, opening his mouth to ask Terry what he means when Bruce finally walks into the room, pausing at the sight of them.

“Am I interrupting anything?”

“Nope!” Terry cheerfully answers with a grin, “Just wishing you both lots of fun!”

Bruce rolls his eyes, not moved by the weird display Terry is showing before looking over to Clark.

“Are we ready then?”

Clark wonders if he should point out how strange Terry is acting but decides, if Bruce is used to it, it’s not something that needs calling attention to. He nods and holds out a hand to Bruce who takes with another eye roll but no verbal protest.

Terry ‘aww’s from where he has plopped himself on the couch and then straightens up like he had a brilliant idea.

“Hey, can I fly the jet for you guys?”

“No,” they both reply at the same time.

* * *

From the moment they step off the private plane and bid the pilot goodbye, Clark has felt something was off about Bruce. It’s not as if he was acting out of ordinary per say but he hasn’t moved from his spot at the front porch, sitting on the cushioned chair and watching Clark water the crops and check them over carefully for anything wrong for what was going on two hours now. Occasionally his eyes would wander around the farm, taking in the corn stalks and vast land, soil rich but bare as Clark has no time for anything more than what’d he’d already started.

But most importantly, Bruce had not brought out any electrical device, not even his phone to glance at emails or texts since he’d planted himself on his seat. No checking up on Gotham for what would be considered a mini eternity by now.

They take a break for lunch around three o’clock, Clark making simple turkey sandwiches for them. Bruce hasn’t mentioned one word about his home city the whole time, asking Clark about how the corn is doing. Clark answers truthfully that, at this point, it’ll be a successful harvest. The small but satisfied smile and “I’m glad” he gets in return has him forgetting any thoughts about the strange behavior he’d witnessed all day.

But only until they’d finished their food and Clark began to clean up the house his parents had left for him. Bruce goes back to silently watching him, not a single sound escapes him as he observes the way Clark sweeps the floor or wipes the windows down.

When he’s done with that and goes back outside to do one more checkover of the corn, he hears Bruce follow behind him without a word.

Clark isn’t sure if he should be worried.

He reaches his breaking point when the sun starts going down, dying the sky with vibrant hues of red and orange, and Bruce still hasn’t moved an inch from the spot he’d claimed since the start of the day.

“Bruce…?”

“Hm?”

“Is something the matter?”

“No.”

Clark’s shoulders droop, he abandons the stalk he’d been watering one last time to float over to his husband with a sad frown, cupping his face gently with both hands. He hopes the puppy dog eyes Diana claims he possesses are indeed irresistible when he tries one more time.

“Bruce, what’s wrong?”

“...nothing is wrong, Clark,” Bruce sighs, eyes darting from Clark’s face to where the sun is setting behind his back. His watches the other’s gaze move back over the expanse of the Kent farm and something softens in his expression, “This is a lovely home.”

Clark smiles, “Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t mind living here.”

_That_ makes Clark falter. He takes a second to get his thoughts in order. Swallowing hard and wide eyed, he asks with a croak, “What?”

Bruce smirks at his reaction, the absolute asshole, and he teasingly says, “We’re getting old, after all.”

A startled laugh bursts out of him and Clark thinks he might be very close to tears, if the tell tale stinging in his eyes is any indication (God he’s cried so much these past few months), when he thinks back to the whole day. How Bruce didn’t so much as glance at the phone in his pocket, uncaring of the occasional buzz of a new notification, to observe the way Clark worked. How his eyes would roam over the land, taking note of how much could be done and grown if they both lived here.

“Bruce, what about Gotham?”

Because Clark isn’t sure Bruce could leave when there was still so much Terry had to learn from him.

“I’m not saying we’ll move in immediately,” Bruce huffs, “I still have a few more arrangements to be made to ensure Terry receives the proper training he needs-”

Yes, of course, Clark mentally chides himself, Bruce wouldn’t never be that unprepared and rash. It’ll take a few more years before he’s ready to live the simple life with Clark here on the farm but until then he’s more than willing to wait-

“-I just have to wait for Damian to arrive some time next month, he’s been needed more recently for Justice League missions but he has promised to make time to continue the training regime I’ve set up for Terry.”

“Wait, Damian? Next month? Hold on-”

“Dick and Barbara are pretty much watching over mostly everything right now but I’d feel better if I knew someone else was there to make sure Terry doesn’t slack off. Tim has informed me he will let me know of any significant changes to the company, but I’m sure that’s more of a formality at this point, there’s nothing he can’t handle in his perfectly capable hands. Cassandra will drop by to pay a visit to Terry but won’t be able to stay long and both Stephanie and Jason have even hinted at coming back to get a ‘glimpse at the new Batman’-”

“Wait Bruce!” Clark holds up a hand, halting Bruce in his explanation, “Have you been planning this all along?”

Bruce scoffs, “Of course I have.” The ‘who do you think I am?’ is unspoken.

Clark gapes, “How long have you…?”

“Unlike some people, I always plan ahead.”

Bruce never decides on something big until he’s gone over every possibility in his head, run all the simulations over and over, comparing all the conclusions and weighing them all against each. Something like this, moving on from Gotham, leaving Batman in someone else’s hands isn’t a decision that can be made from him in such a short time like the few months since Clark has announced his own retirement from the Justice League. Which meant it’s been planned meticulously for far longer, possibly even _years-_

Clark feels his throat close up, the tears now threatening to fall when Bruce smiles at him tenderly.

“We’ve been married for thirty years Clark, I just want to spend the time we have left by your side.”

* * *

As the sun dips even lower, and the sky is painted deeper in red and orange, Clark remembers their first meeting. That day he couldn’t believe he’d end up finding someone that fit him so well. Their first dance always brings a smile to his face, lights up his heart in fond warmth.

He holds out his hand now, asking Bruce for a dance just as he’d always done when he feels this way. Bruce never refuses, moving to get into the right position but warning Clark he won’t be able to reciprocate as well as he did in the past.

(“I’m warning you now, if my hips give out because of one wrong turn, don’t be surprised when _I’m_ the first one signing those divorce papers.”)

Choking on a laugh, he pulls Bruce in, intending to hold on for as long as he’s allowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading till the end!
> 
> And a big BIG THANK YOU to lovelastart for collaborating with me! Guys, the art! It's so pretty! *sobs*
> 
> Please go check it out [again!!](https://lovelastart.tumblr.com/post/622046540125618176/my-art-piece-for-superbat-reverse-bang-2020)


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